


A Game of Thrones

by VVSIGNOFTHECROSS



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 81
Words: 83,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS/pseuds/VVSIGNOFTHECROSS
Summary: Stark, Lannister, Martell, Baratheon, Greyjoy, Arryn, Tully and Targaryen they all claim to be different but, there is one thing they can't live without. The Game of Thrones.





	1. Beginning

****

**“We were all excited when we heard the King and the court were to come to Winterfell. Princes, Knights, ladies, summer, and the King himself, Robert Baratheon, the Demon of the Trident as father called him. We expected much, and we got little. The Prince was an ass, but perhaps, on reflection we could have been different? Perhaps that would have averted the troubles.”**

* * *

 

**King Robert I Baratheon**

It was damnably cold in the north, he could feel the chill in his bones, and he was often left wondering how anyone could possibly want to live here. But this was where his friend was, this was where Lyanna was, and so he had come here. Jon was gone, but there was hope left for them. Ned was the last piece of hope he had, and he would be damned if his friend stood there doing nothing in this place.

He looks at Lyanna’s statue, but when he speaks, he doesn’t speak of her, though he knows Ned thinks he does. “Why did you bury her here? She deserves to be in the sun, basking in it, and allowing her glory to be seen.”

As predicted his friend gives a token response. “She wanted to be buried here, next to father and Brandon.”

Robert hides a snort, his friend likes to pretend he always cared for his siblings, but Robert knows the truth, he knows the darkness buried inside Ned. “Well, she’s here now. But, that is not why I asked you down here Ned.” He pauses, sensing the tension in his friend’s shoulders, a sharp thrill runs through him. “Jon is dead. He was a father to us both, but he is gone now.” His friend stiffens even more and Robert wonders at that, what is his friend hiding? “Now, you are more like my brother than any of my actual brothers. I want you to serve as my hand.”

His friend exhales sharply, then gets on bended knee. “I am not worthy of the honour.”

 _You’re right, you’re not. You left Jon and I down in the south and went hiding here, behind a ghost and your own secrets. But I will give you this anyway, for Jon’s sake._ Robert thinks to himself, aloud, he replies. “I’m not trying to honour you Ned; I’m trying to get you to rule whilst I drink and fuck myself to death.” _I wonder, would you care if I did Ned? Do you care at all?_

His friend looks at him surprised. “I…I... do not know what to say Sire.”

“You can say yes damn it man.” Robert responds impatiently. “Say yes and rule at my side as you were supposed to.”

He can tell Ned feels hesitant about saying yes, and Robert does not understand why, this is an honour, this is rightfully Ned’s place, why does he hesitate? Eventually his friend asks. “Might I have some time to speak with my wife about this?”

Robert had suspected that this might be an issue, something his friend would use to weasel his way out of this, and so he says. “Very well you can speak to Cat about it. But I will also extend the invitation for you to bring your wife south with you.”

He can tell his friend had not expected this, but he still nods. “I will speak with her and let you know Sire.”

Robert nods. “Good. And be quick about it, I am not a patient man.” _And your time is already running out Ned. I know about your little secret._ Robert blinks once to clear that thought away, it is nothing but a suspicion, and so he will not act on it now. But if he has to, he will. Turning attention away from that, he says. “Now, there is another thing that I wished to discuss with you.”

“My King?” Ned asks, sounding worried.

Robert smirks a little under his beard, he likes seeing his friend uncomfortable, for all the years that his friend left him high and dry and did not reply to a missive or a letter, this is his time to strike back. “Had Lyanna survived, we would have been brothers by marriage. I have long cherished the thought of seeing our two families united together. You have a daughter, and I have a son. I think the time is right to see the marriage pact fulfilled.”

As expected, Ned stutters and stammers. “Your Grace, Sansa is but a girl.”

“A betrothal can be arranged Ned. She need not marry my son straight away. But it would be good for them to get to know one another.” Robert responds, thinking back to his own betrothal to Lyanna and how they had not known one another, when that whoreson Rhaegar took her.

Ned looks suitably uncomfortable; his words are slow and measured. “I thank you for the honour Sire. And I will be more than happy to accept.”

Robert nods approvingly. “Good. Now let us leave the dead to their rest Ned.” With that he turns and strides out of the crypt, emerging into the sunlight, where he bids farewell to his friend and with the aid of the Kingsguard makes his way to where he and his wife will be staying. When the door opens, he finds his wife sitting on a settle, brooding. Cersei is beautiful there is no denying that, but she is cold, very cold. “You will be happy to know that Ned agreed to the betrothal.”

His wife narrows her eyes at him and asks. “Are you sure this is smart?”

Robert snorts. “Smart? Cersei, it is genius. Ned is someone who was born to serve. He will serve as I wish and nothing more.” He has his suspicions about his wife, but he leaves them be for the time being, for now he has won an argument.

“Well, I am sure Joffrey will enjoy having someone to talk to. I do not think the Stark boys like him.” His wife replies.

Robert looks at her and says. “They will learn to like him, or they will suffer for it.” He was not unaware of what his son was, but the boy was crown prince, the Starks would respect that, or they would hear his fury.

* * *

 

**“When father told me I was to marry the Crown Prince, I was overjoyed. How could I not be? He was handsome and tall, and I was going to escape the cold and dreary north. If only I had known then, what I know now.”**


	2. Swords

****

**“I never liked the Prince, he was an arrogant shit, always acting as if he was better than us, than me. Who did he think he was? His family was only three hundred years old, they were legitimised bastards, I came from a line that had reigned since the first men had signed the pact with the children. I was better than him, and I was going to show him.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Joffrey Baratheon**

As he watched Tommen and the younger Stark boy fight one another, he had to stifle a yawn behind his hand. He was bored. Tommen was too soft to be a warrior, and the Stark boy looked as if he might batter his brother should he have the chance. It was embarrassing, they were the royal family, and one of the Princes could not even fight. He looks over at the Stark heir, and sees the boy laughing at the display on show, his blood spikes with anger, how dare this impudent little wolf laugh at royalty. He is relieved when Ser Rodrik asks for the bout to stop, he glares at his brother, and then looks to Stark.

“Say Stark, are you up for another bout? I think this time we could fight like real men.” Joffrey says, keeping his voice neutral to hide something of the anger and fear he feels, Stark is a lot bigger and taller than him.

Stark looks at him amused. “Do you think you might be able to last longer this time Joff? Wouldn’t want you getting bruised now.”

The callous use of his family pet name, and the way Stark says it, causes Joffrey to feel red. Remembering his mother’s advice he keeps his voice calm and his expression nonchalant when he replies. “I grow tired of fighting with mere wood sticks. We are young men are we not? To train is to prepare for battle. Tell me Stark, do you fight with steel?”

Before Stark can respond, Ser Rodrik speaks. “We do not fight with steel here.”

“What are you doing? Training sword fodder, or men?” Clegane asks.

Before Cassel can respond, Joffrey looks at him and says. “I was speaking to Robb here, Ser, not you. You do not speak unless spoken to.” Cassel bristles but holds his tongue, Joffrey turns back to Stark and sees anger in the young man’s eyes, this surprises him. “So tell me Stark, do you fight with steel?”

The Stark heir looks as if he wants to hit him, and Joffrey does not quite understand why, all he has done is ask a question, if the boy cannot deal with simple questions, he will not make a very good lord. Eventually, Stark says. “I can fight with steel if you like Your Grace.”

“Absolutely out of the question!” Ser Rodrik says. “You are not ready to fight with live steel master Robb.”

Joffrey stares at the master of arms for Winterfell and asks. “And who are you to decide if Robb is ready to fight with live steel or not, Ser? Are you his mother, to fret over him constantly?” that gets some laughs from the Lannister men around, though Joffrey does not understand why they are laughing, he asked a genuine question.

He looks at Stark, and sees the boy fuming, again he does not understand why. Cassel replies. “I am the master of arms at Winterfell, Your Grace, I decide when my charges are ready to fight with live steel.”

Stark looks almost pained when he says. “I’m ready to fight with live steel. You know I am!”

Cassel looks at him unimpressed, and in that moment Joffrey feels sorry for Stark, the boy must surely be desperate to prove himself a man, but he does not know how to go about it. He is thwarted by his parents’ desire to coddle him until he is nothing but an shadow of a true man. Cassel seems to sum this up when he says. “You are ready for live steel, when I say you are.”

Stark looks as if he might fume, and so Joffrey merely says. “Another time then, perhaps when you are more of a man then a boy.” That draws even more laughs from his mother’s men, but Joffrey does not much care. He turns away from Stark and walks off to find something better to do. He is disappointed by the Starks, his father had gone on and on about how good they were, how full of live and energy, and how they were noble, but all he has seen so far is a boy trying to be a man, and being put down for it. A girl who is filled with nothing but air, a moody second daughter, and a wild second son, hardly the stuff of a great house, let alone a ally and friend. Perhaps that will change, perhaps not. He walks back to his room, and sits down, once he has sat down he looks at his dog and says. “The Starks are a waste of time. I do not understand why Cassel would not let Robb fight with live steel.”

Sandor Clegane is a brute of a man, but an effective one. “Because Cassel is an old woman, and the Starks have gone soft.”

“You would never have guessed that from how my father described them. I expected beasts of war, not mere pups. These Starks, they are nothing, nothing at all. How can we use them for our gain, when they do not fight with steel, but with sticks?” Joffrey asks. He knows he is no mean hand with a sword, or any weapon, and that is a sore point, but the Starks, he had thought, he had thought they would be something. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps they all were. “Tell me dog, do you think Starks like us?”

Clegane’s answer much like his personality, is to the point. “No. I think they hate you and your guts. They see you as outsiders, and they will never accept you.”

* * *

 

**“The Prince was an interesting fellow. Robb only saw the brashness, a challenge to his ego. Whereas I, I saw opportunity. The Prince wanted a friend, and I was determined to be that friend.”**


	3. Husband and Wife

****

**“The thought of father being political, of doing anything that was not with honour, seemed absurd. He was a man of his word, who did what he thought was right, and what was honourable. That was just who he was, that was who he had raised us to be. The thought he would do something wrong, or treasonous was not thinkable to us, to any of us. Mother, mother loved father with all her heart, she loved all of us with all of her being, and she was always there for us, until the King came.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

The royal party’s stay in Winterfell was having a toll on her husband she could see it plain as day. Whereas before he would be bright and cheerful now he seemed moody and prone to anger. She was not sure what she could to do help him, nor what she could to do make him smile, but all she knew was that she had to do something, they could not continue like this. And that was why she spoke now. “Ned, you know you could say no. You do not have to go south.”

Her husband looks as if she has grown a second head, after all she was the one who initially urged him to head south, for Jon Arryn for Lysa, for them. “You know I cannot refuse. Robert will think less of me, and he is not the man he was last time we saw him. He has changed.”

Something in her husband’s voice makes her nervous, and forces her to ask. “What do you mean Ned? How has he changed?”

Her husband runs a hand through his hair, and replies softly. “He seems blunter, Robert was always blunt yes, but he seems far blunter now. Almost as if he’s impatient, impatient to do what I do not know. But I know one thing for sure, he will not want to hear me say no.”

Catelyn nervously asks. “Then what do you want to do? I can tell you do not want to go, but you will not say no either. So, what will you do my love?”

Her husband sighs, and murmurs. “I was never meant for this, for any of this. I was meant to be a second son, all of this would have been Brandon’s.” she holds her tongue, she knows when her husband gets like this it is better to let him talk it out himself, than say something. Eventually he shakes his head and looks at her, she goes to him then standing in the gap between his legs. “I will go south, and I will make sure that the realm has the hand it needs.”

Catelyn runs her hands through her husband’s hair, smiling slightly at the appreciative moans that that draws, she looks down at her husband her heart filled with love for him, hesitantly she asks. “What have you managed to find out about Jon Arryn’s death from Robert?” she knows the matter is a painful one for Ned, but she need to know, she needs to make sure that Lysa was not talking nonsense.

Her husband sighs again, this time, the sound is resigned instead of bitter. “Nothing. Robert thinks there is nothing out of the ordinary and he says Lysa acted most strangely in the days before Jon died. Almost as if she was terrified it was going to happen.”

Catelyn nods and asks. “Do you think the Lannisters had a hand in it?”

Ned looks at her, and his eyes are pained. “I do not know my love. Truly I do not know, and that is what terrifies me. Robert wants me to bring the girls into a nest of vipers, and he wants me to marry Sansa to one of Cersei Lannister’s get. I do not know if I can do that. But I know that saying no to the King is not the right thing to do, father did it, and it got him killed.”

Catelyn takes a deep breath, steels herself to the realities they are facing, then whispers. “If you want Ned, I could come south with you and the girls. I know the south in a way you never will. Perhaps I could be of some help?”

To her surprise, her husband looks at her and laughs. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Robert wants you to come south. I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come.” Her husband pauses, then asks again. “Do you want to? I know it would mean leaving Robb and Jon here alone, but Bran and Rickon would be coming as well.”

“You’d take Bran and Rickon down south as well?” Catelyn asks surprised.

“I would. They need some exposure to the south, Robb does not get along with the crown prince, but Bran seems to get along with Prince Tommen, perhaps they can balance out the differences of their older brothers.” Ned responds.

“And Rickon?” she asks. “Why would he be going south?”

Her husband smiles abashed. “Because I hoped that would tempt you to come south as well.”

Catelyn laughs and hits her husband’s arm. “Ned you don’t need to bribe me to come south with you, I will come with you, because I want to. If my children are there as well, then that is even more reason to go. Perhaps I can help provide some advice to Sansa.”

Her husband nods. “I do not like how besotted she seems with the prince. It is not healthy.”

“She’s just a child Ned, I’m sure soon enough she’ll grow up and whatever she feels will mature into something.” Catelyn says reassuringly.

Ned does not look convinced, but he nods. “You are okay with Jon staying here my love?”

Catelyn hesitates a moment, Jon Snow is an odd case, he is a bastard, but whose bastard he is she does not know. Ned never said who his father or mother was, he merely said that he owed someone a favour, and that was who Jon Snow was. But he saw Ned as his father, and she as his mother, and their children as his siblings, so she supposed it had worked out okay. “Of course, this is his home.” She replies. Her husband nods and then allows her to bring him to bed, forgetting about Robert Baratheon and Lysa’s ominous letter.

* * *

 

**“The south is a cesspit, only the brave venture here, or the stupid. It is not for everyone. But I loved it, and so I came. I do not know whether I would do so again.”**


	4. Greyjoy

**“The Ironborn are a hard people, we do not accept outsiders, nor do we accept change well. My brother had been gone from the islands for nine years, through no fault of his own, but he was not an Ironborn. Oh, he said the words, and he might have meant them, but he was not Ironborn. He was a Greenlander masquerading as an Ironborn, and so long as people thought that, he was never going to succeed. Never.”**

* * *

 

**Theon Greyjoy**

Theon had been in Winterfell for nine years, he had come as a scared little kid, and now he was a man. He had not seen the islands of his birth since his father’s failed rebellion. He had not wanted to go back to the islands as Theon Greyjoy, he had wanted to go back as Lord of the Islands. Or as his father’s recognised heir. His father had never replied to a single one of his letters, and Theon had heard little from Asha, but he knew deep down that should it come to it, she would support him, she had to, he was her brother, and a son always came before a daughter in the succession always. When he’d been told that he’d been summoned to meet Lord Stark, he was not sure what damage he had done now, but he was expecting the worst. Seeing the King present as well made him all the more nervous, he hadn’t even glanced at Princess Myrcella though she was very beautiful for a girl of thirteen.

He bows before the King and Lord Stark and says. “You called for me to attend you my lord, and I am here. What did you wish to speak about?”

Lord Stark is a serious and solemn man at the best of times, but now, now he appears damn right serious and so Theon keeps his tongue silent, and waits for Stark to speak, eventually the man does. “Nine years ago, your father rebelled, and when he failed, I took you on as my ward, with the understanding that if he rebelled again your life was forfeit.” Theon feels his heart sink, has his father rebelled again? Stark continues. “Earlier this morning, we received a raven from Harlaw, from your uncle, Lord Harlaw. It would seem that your father is dead Theon.”

Theon hears the words, but he is not sure if he believes them. His father dead? The great Balon Greyjoy, the mountain of the islands, who had done so much and done so little, dead? How could it be possible. Slowly he asks. “How did he die?”

“It seems he slipped and fell whilst trying to cross one of the bridges of Pyke.” Lord Stark responds.

Theon hears that and he immediately suspects something, his father would never fall, his father was always sure of foot. “I see.” He says instead.

The King speaks then, evidently impatient to move things forward. “With your father’s death, you are now Lord of the Iron Island and Lord of Pyke. And as such, you owe an oath of fealty to me boy.”

Theon numbly acknowledges that, and so he gets on bended knee before the King and says loudly and clearly. “I, Theon of the House Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, and Lord Reaper of Pyke, do hereby swear my undying and fealty to you King Robert of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. And I promise to always uphold your laws and do as you bid, from this day until my last, I do swear.”

The King replies. “And I do hereby recognise in your lands and titles, and do charge you with defence of the seas as Lord of the Iron Fleet. Serve well and serve true, Theon Greyjoy.” The King extends his hand, and Theon kisses the man’s ring, he remains kneeling for a period before the King says. “You may rise now.”

Theon stands, feeling a little straighter and prouder than he did before, his father is dead, gone, buried, and he didn’t even have to lift a finger to see that done. Cautiously he asks. “When do I leave for the islands?”

“You will leave from Winterfell when we leave boy, and you will head off from the coast and sail directly for Pyke. When you arrive there, you shall write and inform us of what you have seen and what the mood is.” The King says commandingly.

“From the coast?” Theon asks confused. “You wish for me to leave from Wolf’s Port?”

“Yes.” The King replies. “Lord Benjen will be there to accompany you as far as his home, and from there you are on your own. But no funny business, do you understand me Greyjoy? Do anything rash, and your head will be on a spike.”

Theon bows his head and mumbles. “Yes Sire. Of course, Sire.”

“Good.” The King responds. “Now leave.” Theon bows and then hurries out of the room, the shock of the past few moments still to hit him.

Eventually he makes his way back to his chambers, where the whore Rose, sleeps, he wakes her with a kiss, then fucks her till they both yell in pleasure, that done, he pushes her out and helps her leave Winterfell, it would not do for Stark to know that a whore was in his castle after all. After that, he bathes, changes and heads down for breakfast in the Great Hall. Whilst he sits there he notices the tensions between Robb and the Crown Prince and sighs, Robb will get nowhere with that attitude, he means to say something about it, but before he can, a messenger comes and whispers in his ear. “Your friend is waiting for you my lord. She wishes to talk urgently.”

Theon nods claps his friend on the shoulder and then leaves, walking as quietly as he can until he reaches the place where they agreed to meet, there he looks at her and asks. “What word do you have for me?”

“Your uncles are returning.” Is all she says, and he feels dread flow through him.

* * *

 

**“The Iron Islands are mine by right. I shall take back what Balon stole and I will make his heirs bleed.”**


	5. Boys

**“I refuse to accept that the Crown Prince is better than me. He has no skill at arms, no skill whatsoever. How can he be the son of the Demon of the Trident, when he fights like a little girl with wooden swords? I would have loved to have fought him with live steel, perhaps I could’ve finally knocked him out and had done with this. What Sansa sees in him I do not know.”**

* * *

 

**Robb Stark**

The royal family’s stay in Winterfell was starting to get on his nerves. The Queen clearly hated Winterfell and them, though they had done nothing to her, to deserve such a thought process, she clearly thought she was better than them, which she was not. The Crown Prince was an arse, he thought himself better as well, his comments in training had been snide and annoying. The others, well Princess Myrcella was beautiful, but that was about it. He wanted them gone from his home and gone from his life. And evidently, this meeting with father was going to be about that if the way he looked right now was any indication.

“Robb, Jon, thank you for coming at such a late hour. I know there has been some excitement with the plans for Theon to leave for the Iron Islands, but right now that is not my concern. My concern is you two and the fact that you will be here alone, without any of the rest of the family here.” His father says in what they all know as his Lord Stark voice.

“If you are so concerned about it, why not have one of you stay here, father?” Robb asks.

His father sighs, and looks at him exasperatedly. “You know why that cannot be done Robb. The King has asked for the girls, your mother and Bran and Rickon to come south with me, and you know I cannot refuse a direct order from the King. Besides they want to come.”

“So what is your concern then?” Robb asks. “I know how to rule; I’ve sat at your side and watched you rule since I was old enough to. We both have.”

“There is a difference between observing someone ruling, and doing it yourself Robb.” His father replies. “In the first, you can observe and see, in the second you must put forward your lessons. And that is not always the easiest thing to do, especially here.”

“So what do you suggest?” Robb asks, feeling his anger grow slightly, he hates that his father still sees him as a child.

“Benjen will be returning to Wolf’s Port when the royal party leaves, but he can return at a moment’s notice should you require his assistance. Ser Rodrick will be on hand to give you assistance as will Maester Luwin. I am not trying to suggest you are not ready for this Robb, I am merely stating my thoughts on the matter. Now, what I want to know is, are you ready for this? It is a great burden I am placing on your shoulders, the north and its people are an unruly lot. You will need to be firm and strict, but not so strict as to lose their support. Do you understand?” his father says.

Robb nods. “I understand father, I’ve been listening and paying attention since I was old enough to understand what those meetings were all about. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

His father sighs. “I know you won’t Robb, and I’m not talking to you about this because I think you will, I’m talking to you about this, so that you understand the brevity of what it is I am asking you to take on. I was a man grown when I became Lord of Winterfell, and I still found it difficult. You are but a boy.”

“I will be a man in a few moons!” Robb protests. “I am no babe that needs to be sheltered from the harshness of the world, father.”

Again, his father looks as if he has missed the point completely, and Robb feels his frustration grow. “I know Robb. Regardless, we both know you are ready for this task. So, I think it is appropriate we move onto something else.” Robb wants to interrupt to get his father to keep talking about that specific issue, but decides to let it drop, for now. “What do you make of the Crown Prince?”

“He’s an interesting fellow.” Jon says, and Robb looks at his brother as if he’s turned traitor.

“You’re just saying that because he spoke to you and complimented you on your sword form.” Robb snaps at his brother. He looks at his father and says. “The Crown Prince is an arrogant, annoying, Lannister looking child. I do not understand him, nor do I think I want to. I think he is a terrible person, and he would be horrible for Sansa. Even though he acts the perfect Prince around her.”

His father looks amused more than anything else, and Robb feels even more frustrated. “And what has the Prince done to stir such feelings in you Robb?”

Robb hesitates for a moment, then says. “He makes boasts about the things he has done, where there is no proof he has done them. He makes challenges he cannot hope to complete, and the only reason he does so is because he knows his rank will protect him.”

At this Jon interjects before father can speak. “You’ve only got that one thing as reference Robb. And even then, the Prince was merely asking you if you wanted to spar with live steel. Ser Rodrick was the one who said you could not, not the Prince.”

Robb blushes scarlet and replies. “Did he have to make those comments though?” Turning to father he says. “He looks down on us father, I know it, you know it as well.”

His father does not say anything for a long moment, then he simply says. “I see.” Nothing else is said for a long time, until father says dismissively. “Try not to say anything damaging on the hunt tomorrow Robb, you may both leave.”

* * *

 

**“I worry about Robb, he reminds me of me when I was his age, filled with anger at so many things. Perhaps he will grow up in time. He will need to.”**


	6. Lion

**“Growing up, I often wondered what life with a mother would be like. I never knew my mother, she died giving birth to me, and a horribly stunted dwarf. It was the dwarf that killed her. Vile thing it was, broken and twisted. Still, when Jaime joined the Kingsguard, I became the heir, and the focus of father’s attention. I would be lying if I said, I hadn’t thanked my stars for that.”**

* * *

 

**Ser Tyrion Lannister**

Casterly Rock, a gold towering fortress built into a rock front. Home, a brilliant home and one that Tyrion loved with all his heart. It was where he had been raised, and where he knew he would die. He looked at himself briefly in the mirror, blond hair, green and black eyes, reflected at him. He smiled, and he saw the winning smile that had won over a thousand different maidens’ hearts over the years, but not the one that had mattered. He takes a breath, then walks out of his room to his father’s solar, he nods to the guards, and smiles a little as they bow their heads to the heir to the Rock. He knocks and then enters. Lord Tywin sits looking through papers from some spy or the other, then looks up and gestures for him to sit. Tyrion sits in the chair opposite his father, his muscular frame making the chair creak a little.

“You asked to see me father?” Tyrion asks, keeping his voice neutral, he knows or rather he suspects what his father will want to talk to him about, it has been two years since Myranda died, and there is still no heir, but he is surprised when his father says.

“Balon Greyjoy is dead. The Stark puppet will now be Lord of the Iron Islands.”

Tyrion looks at his father and cautiously asks. “How did he die? As far as I knew he was in quite good health.”

At this his father does a very un Tywin Lannister like gesture and snorts. “He was walking over one of the bridges that links Pyke and he slipped and fell.”

“Balon Greyjoy, the best sailor the Iron Islands has ever produced, slipped and fell?” Tyrion asks unconvinced,

“Yes that is apparently what happened.” His father replies.

“And now Theon Greyjoy will sit the Seastone Chair.  Will he be as amenable to listening to you as his father was?” Tyrion asks, thinking of the deal that Tywin had struck with the Lord Reaper of Pyke, after the Greyjoy Rebellion.

His father shakes his head. “No. If my spies are telling it true, the man has been raised to behave exactly like Eddard Stark. All honour and no sense. I suspect, he will be a Stark man, meaning we are now surrounded by two northern allies.”

Tyrion looks at his father questioningly. “Do you think then that Stark intends to bring war to us? If so, why? He does not appear a fool, nor does he appear to be intent on war mongering. So then why would he look to bring war to us?”

Lord Tywin takes a moment to respond, and when he does his voice is soft. “I do not think he will bring war to us. But rather I think there will be war because of him. Stark has the King’s ear, same as Cersei does, and when you have two competing influences like that, there can only be one solution.”

Tyrion understands where his father is going with that and so says. “So you think that one of them will do something that will lead the other into a declaration of war, and you are worried that the King might choose his friend of his wife.”

Lord Tywin does not answer in the affirmative, he does not need to, his expression says it all. Instead, he merely says. “When the court leaves Winterfell, you will meet them near Riverrun or wherever it is in the Riverlands they go, and you will get to know the Starks, and the lay of the land.”

Tyrion nods. “And I suppose you also want me to write back to you about anything that I see or hear?”

“Yes. We cannot be too careful. Stark does not like our family because of the precautions we took during the rebellion. And so, we must make sure he does not try and remove our influence from court, out of some desire for late justice.” Father replies.

Tyrion nods. “Very well.” He will do what he can to ensure Stark remains friendly to them, if that is possible. Hesitantly, he asks. “What about the Tyrells? Has there been any news on that front?” his father had been looking for a second marriage for him, and an heir, not that Lord Tywin did not dote on the two girls that Tyrion had sired with his first wife, but a male heir was important to the legacy, very important.

“Mace Tyrell remains determined to see his daughter engaged to a Baratheon, and to that end he has not responded favourably to any of the proposals. Oh, he has made the appropriate noises, but nothing else has come from it. You may be needed to woo the girl should she go to court.” His father replies.

Tyrion grins. “Oh that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. After all, what is a Baratheon compared to a Lannister.” And all the wealth and prestige that would bring, goes without saying. Tyrion knows the Tyrells, knows that they are social climbers, and he knows without a doubt that the girl might prefer being wed to him than to one of the royal family.

His father merely grunts in response, then says. “When you head to court, Armory Lorch will be captaining your guard.”

“Why him? The man has no brain.” Tyrion responds.

“Precisely, that way Cersei cannot use him.” His father states.

* * *

 

**“Tyrion is smart, but I fear his tendency to foolishness will bring him down. Lords do not respect foolishness, or japes, they respect firmness.”**


	7. Dragons

**“We were exiled from our home, by a drunkard and a womaniser. I am ashamed to think of my father; Jon claims he was a brave man done wrong. But I know the truth, he abandoned his duty for a slut and a whore. I am not my father. I will take back what was taken.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

Pentos was glistening in the summer sun, everything seemed a peace, relaxed, it was unnerving. Aegon Targaryen looked out across the grass, and sighed. Another day had gone, another day without news, he was beginning to wonder if their chance to move back across the waves would ever come. Or where they destined to fall by the way side again. Just like the last time.

“You should not look so glum nephew; it takes away your charm.” His aunt Daenerys says.

Aegon turns around and looks at his aunt, she is younger than him by two years, and is starting to mature nicely, Aegon smiles and replies. “I know but I worry. Sometimes I think the magister is using us.”

“But to what end? He has already said he does not want to be master of coin, and that he is doing this out of the goodness of his heart. What would he need us for? He already has all the power he could want.” Daenerys replies measuredly.

Aegon sighs. “That’s just the thing, I am not sure he was being honest. I am not sure he knows what honesty is. Do not forget his friend serves on the Usurper’s council. The spider knows nothing but webs, and Illyrio was once a cut purse himself. We must be careful.”

“You worry far too much nephew.” His uncle says, appearing out of the manse with Rhaenys. “Mopatis has said he will deliver us an army soon enough, and I am sure he will. We must have patience.”

Aegon’s eyes narrow as he sees just how close Viserys and Rhaenys are walking to one another, he says nothing on that matter though, instead focusing on the other dilemma he faces. “He has been saying that for a year now. He also said the usurper would be dead and chaos would be ravaging Westeros by now. And yet the usurper still lives, and nothing else has happened.”

“Patience brother, that is what is needed. We cannot expect things to fall into our laps. We need the pieces to move just so, and then we can make our move.” Rhaenys states.

Aegon looks at his sister and sighs. “I know, and yet I must wonder when they will fall.”

“Well uncle Doran has firmly allied with us now, the treaty you signed with Arianne and uncle Oberyn is proof of that. Lady Ashara has done more than enough to bring about strong support for us amongst the Marcher lords of the Reach and Dorne. Lord Connington is working with his cousins to bring the Stormlords onside. We have men we just need the right signs.” Rhaenys responds.

Aegon nods, what his sister says is true, and yet he looks at how close his sister and uncle are standing to one another, and he hopes to God that they do not do something foolish that could jeopardise this. “I know. I am just growing impatient is all.”

“A good King knows when to use patience, a great one knows when to exercise it.” Viserys says sagely.

Aegon snorts. “So how did your little excursion into Pentos go then uncle?”

His uncle gives him the winning grin he is so famous for and says. “Oh it went very well. The magisters of Pentos are looking at calling in the debts the usurper owes them, and they are also looking at bringing Braavos into their little schemes.”

Intrigued, Aegon says. “If Braavos goes with Pentos then the usurper will have no choice but to expend his resources. I will need to speak to Illyrio about this.”

“And no doubt he will tell you to wait and see. The magister is far too cautious. Perhaps it would be better if Viserys did the work for you?” Rhaenys asks, toying with a piece of her braid.

Aegon looks at his sister, then at his uncle and cautiously says. “If you feel that you are up to the task uncle, then I would not be against you doing such a thing. But I want you to be discreet, nothing too open. If the magister hears about this, then perhaps we shall be in more trouble than we think. But we must give it a try.”

His uncle bows and says. “I will willingly do this for you Your Grace. When do you wish me to leave?”

“In two days’ time, when the heat has disappeared somewhat.” Aegon replies.

“Two days? Should he not go later? To ensure that the heat truly has disappeared?” Rhaenys asks.

Aegon shakes his head. “No, if he goes any later then we might well miss the chance to make a break through. The time is coming when we shall need to emerge into the open. We must have everything there and ready for when that time comes.”

His sister bows her head in acceptance and then asks. “May Viserys and I leave, brother, there are some things we wish to discuss, privately.”

Aegon looks at them, then nods, accepting that whether he agrees to it or not, they will go ahead and do whatever it is they want. “Very well. Dany, you may leave as well. I believe one of the girls was looking for you.” His aunt nods and follows Viserys and Rhaenys back into the manse. Once they are gone, he sighs, and moves away from the balcony, and out into the garden, to where he buried the book a long time ago. He finds the book, opens it and murmurs. “Let us see if you were right father. Who are the three heads, and where can I find the eggs?”

* * *

 

**“We shall take back the throne and Westeros. And make the usurper and his dogs pay.”**


	8. Destination Flower

****

**“Robert has his faults, he is a drunk, a whore monger and an idiot. But there is one thing where we agree change must come. The realm is groaning, it is creaking, and I think we must make something change before it falls apart. The Targaryens left us a broken system, we must now endeavour to make it better, to reform it. Jon Arryn didn’t see that, but he was old. I am young, and I will not let my inheritance break.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

King’s Landing was quiet without his brother and his family there. Renly preferred it this way. The Lannisters were fools, and Robert was an oaf. The quiet allowed him a chance to read up on various things that caught his eye, and go ahead with his plans to take back the city watch from Littlefinger, something he’d been meaning to do for a very long time. Stannis had left, where he had gone Renly did not know, nor did he particularly care, whatever his brother had decided to do, it was likely for the best that he did it away from court, especially with Robert bringing his beloved Ned Stark to court. Gods, Renly couldn’t wait to see what hell was unleashed there.

Turning to Loras, he says. “You know, the moment Eddard Stark and his family come to court, things are going to be so very different here.”

Loras looks at him and asks. “How do you mean? Stark is one man; it’s not like he’s going to do what the Lannisters did and bring an entire army of men and women with him.”

Renly nods, acknowledging that, but replies. “He might not do what the Lannisters did, but his attitude and that of his family, is distinctly at odds with everything that happens here at court. He is more austere, and more driven, far more so than Jon Arryn ever was. He has not met the real Robert yet. When he does, I think he might well want to flee.”

Loras looks at him intrigued. “You mean to suggest that the King has not been honest with Stark? A man who all know to be his closest friend and ally?”

Renly snorts at that. “His closest friend and ally who went off in a huff over something that needed to be done, when the rebellion ended, and yet, never bothered to fulfil his oath to my brother and his King and serve him on the council. I think Robert has done what he thought was necessary, and Stark will most definitely suffer for that.”

“Do you think he will last less time than Stannis could have done?” Loras asks.

Renly nods, delighted that his lover has finally caught onto what he is implying. “Oh I most definitely do. I think Stark has far too much wrong with his outlook to ever fit in with King’s Landing as it is now. Which is why I will be offering him the hand of friendship.”

Loras looks at him intrigued. “You wish to make him an ally for your course of reform?”

“Yes. He is the perfect person to ally with in this scenario. Ned Stark is coming to court with fresh eyes and a fresh perspective. When he sees the faults at court, he will realise what the issues are with the realm at large. I can help him try and make changes, I can suggest the changes that you already know I wish to make. I think the time is coming for a great change.” Renly says eagerly.

“Do you think he will actually want to make change though? Stark seems to be very off about change.” Loras probes.

Renly waves a hand dismissively. “When it comes to the north, Stark is like any great lord, unwilling to bring change for fear of angering his lords. But when it comes to court and the realm at large, I think he will be more than willing to listen to my ideas for reform and change.”

“How can you be so sure?” Loras asks.

Renly looks at his lover and says. “Because Stark is at heart an idealist, someone who believes in the songs and stories he heard when he stayed in the Vale. He wants to believe that the south is a land of songs and reams. The viper’s nest that the capital is, is not something he wishes to accept, he will want to change it. And when he realises that, I will be there.”

Loras looks very impressed at this. “A smart plan, my love, but tell me what about the Lannisters? The Queen is no fool; she will know that you are going to try and court Stark. Would she not want to make her own plans for that?”

“Cersei is someone who likes to think she knows how to play, like any Lannister, she has an inflated ego, and that is something I can use. She will try and turn Stark to her side, not realising just how much he hates her and her family. In his mind, she took the place that was rightfully his sister’s. I can work with that; I can make him see the way to the light.” Renly says emphatically.

“How will you do that my love? You cannot very well bring back his sister.” Loras asks.

Renly chuckles slightly. “Oh, I do not need to bring her back. I merely need Stark and Robert to think that her ghost is back. Tell my Loras, does your father want your sister as the Queen?”

Hesitantly, Loras replies. “Yes. It’s all he wants.”

“Well then, you might want to write to him and tell him that our plans are being put in place, and that he should plan on bringing Margaery to court soon.” Renly replies. He can tell by the way his lover’s hands shake slightly, that he does not approve, but this will be for the best. Anything that brings change, will be.

* * *

 

**“Margaery as Queen? I do not know how to feel about this.”**


	9. A Mockingbird For Dinner

****

**“I have never liked Baelish, he seems like a snake. I still remember how Brandon described him after their duel. A snivelling little wretch of a boy, who’d had the gall to challenge his social better. He’d been beaten to within an inch of his life, only Cat’s pleading had spared him that day, had I been there, I think I’d have gone further, but then I do not like the man. I did not know the boy.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

The Tower of the Hand was a tall and imposing building, built during the reign of Aegon the Dragon for his first Hand Orys Baratheon, various Kings and hands had made changes to it over the years to suit their purposes. Right now, they were in the solar, where Ned and Petyr were sat as well. Discussing something of great importance, though Catelyn could tell her husband was fast running out of patience, and they’d barely spoken.

“Whilst it is more than pleasant having you here Petyr, I do have to ask what it is you wish to discuss.” Catelyn finds herself stating.

Her former friend looks at her with wide eyes and simply says. “I did not know I had to have a reason to come and visit you Cat. But I will concede that the hour is late. I have come to ask you of how your journey was and how you found the court so far.”

Catelyn looks at Ned, and she can tell her husband does not believe Petyr, but seeing as she does not wish for there to be any sort of confrontation between the two she smiles and replies. “The journey was fine Petyr. It was nice to see some more of the kingdoms, and to see the Riverlands again. As for court, well it has been an interesting two days so far.”

Petyr smiles at her, the same sort of smile that used to make her feel slightly uncomfortable as they grew up. “Ah that is good. I hope your children did not take too badly to the journey. I understand it can be quite tiring.”

“They are fine. Resting.” Ned replies gruffly, under the table, Catelyn takes his hand and squeezes.

“That is good.” Petyr says, looking intently first at her husband and then at her. “Congratulations for betrothing your daughter to Prince Joffrey, a worthy betrothal, the Prince is a lucky boy, Lady Sansa will grow into a great beauty.”

Something about the way Petyr says those words sets her on edge, cautiously, she replies. “Thank you Petyr.”

An uneasy silence falls then, and as it begins to drag on, she notices that Ned is fiddling with her fingers, something he only did when he was either quite nervous or extremely, angry, she wonders which one it will be. The silence is broken when Petyr speaks. “I know you accepted the position of hand to look into Lord Arryn’s death, Lord Stark,” Both she and Ned exhale in surprise then, and before they can ask how he knows, Petyr states. “I was the one who advised Lysa to write to you Cat. I thought you had a right to know that it was the Lannisters who killed her husband.”

She hears Ned exhale a little, and asks. “How do you know for certain that it was the Lannisters who did it Petyr?”

“And if you are certain why have you not gone to the King?” Ned demands.

Petyr does something unexpected, he laughs. “I am not foolish enough to go directly to the King, when the Queen is in his presence all the time, Lord Stark. As to how I know it was the Lannisters, there are certain tell-tale signs. Pycelle dealt with his treatment for a long time, and dismissed his own Maester, the far more capable Maester Coleman. Pycelle works for the Lannisters, has always done so, he did what his masters commanded.”

“But why would they want Jon Arryn dead? He ruled as Hand for many years and did a good job. What reason would it serve them for Jon to die? Surely they knew that Robert would choose Ned as hand?” Catelyn ponders.

“Always an intuitive one you were Cat. And yes, whilst it would appear not to serve them any purpose, it does in fact below the surface. It removes an experienced politician in southern matters, and replaces him with yourself Lord Stark. Someone who has no experience in the south.” Petyr replies.

“So they mean to use Ned as a tool? But why, what could they hope to gain from that?” Catelyn asks. But before anyone can respond, she comes up with the answer herself. “To get closer to the King. And to get closer ties with the north.”

“Exactly.” Petyr says smiling. “They want to make sure they have an in, the Queen and King are close, but they are not that close. And though you have not been in the south since the rebellion, Lord Stark, the King still chose you as his new hand, not his goodfather. They will want to make sure they have an in with you.”

Ned looks lost, it shows so plainly on his face, that she feels for him. “What do you suggest I do then Lord Baelish?”

“I suggest you keep your family close, and you trust no one but those you know well. This is not Winterfell; you cannot speak openly here.” Petyr replies.

“Will you help us prove the Lannisters killed Jon Arryn?” Catelyn asks.

Petyr looks uncertain, but then he smiles. “Of course. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

* * *

 

**“I did not know what to make of Petyr after meeting him after so long. He was changed, that much was certain. Just how changed he was, I was never going to be sure of. I think looking back on it, I might’ve decided on a different path, had I known the way things were going. But then, in that moment, it seemed the right thing to do.”**


	10. Boys II

****

**“I like King’s Landing, it is different to Winterfell and the North. There is so much more to see here, so much more to do. I feel alive. I never felt alive in Winterfell. There I was always the second son, Robb’s younger brother. But here, here I am someone, I can be someone, and that, that is something I will always cherish.”**

* * *

 

**Brandon Stark**

Bran walked side by side with Prince Tommen, Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard trailing behind them. They were walking through the hallways of the Red Keep, exploring, seeing what new things they could encounter. It was an exciting time for Bran, he knew every inch of Winterfell, every part of its history, but the Red Keep was different. This was where the dragon Kings had lived with their families, and where the Seven Kingdoms were forged. He wanted to know more, to see more, and so they walk, through the hallways, passed closed doors, though he wants to see what’s behind them, he trusts Tommen, and so, when they eventually do stop before an open hallway, he looks at his friend questioningly.

“We’re here.” Tommen says, looking at him eagerly.

Bran feels a little flutter at that, but puts it down to the feeling of anticipation before him. “Where is here exactly Tom?”

Tommen smiles. “The entrance to the Hall of a Thousand Suns.”

Bran looks at his friend surprised. “This place actually exists? I thought it was a mere legend.” The Hall Of A Thousand Suns, build during the reign of one of the King Aegons was said to be a massive underground hall that contained treasures and lost books and scrolls. All the things he’d ever want to read and see, he feels that flutter again, and wonders at it.

Before he can wonder at it too long though, Tommen speaks. “Aye, it does exist Bran. Now come, are you going to just stand there, or do you want to see?”

His friend extends a hand, and he smiles, takes it and replies. “Of course.”

They walk onwards, Tommen opening the doors with his free hand, they keep walking, following the pathway down as it slopes and twists, Bran feels awed as he looks at all the patterns and inscriptions on the walls. He had heard tales about this place for as long as he could remember, Nan and Mother having told him about it, but he’d never thought he’d actually be here. They continue down the slope, then just as he thinks it will never end, they come to the place. They stop, and Tommen walks forward a little then says. “Welcome to the Hall of a Thousand Suns.”

Bran stares at all the gold, all the books, and all of the finery kept here, and he feels as if he is looking at a piece of history, he is looking at a piece of history. He looks at his friend and whispers. “It’s beautiful.” Tommen’s answering smile sets his heart to hammering a little. “How did you find it?”

His friend looks at him with a glint in his eye. “Oh I was wandering, outside for a while when I was small, and I happened to come down here. And that’s when I found this.” Here, Tommen gestures with his arms, and Bran notices just how muscular his friend is, more so than the Crown Prince.

“Does anyone else know about this place?” Bran asks.

“No, no one ever bothers coming here.” Tommen replies, and Bran feels ridiculously happy at that thought.

Bran grins then, not knowing why he’s doing that, but deciding that that’s okay. Tommen has let go of his hand, but is walking into the room, and so he follows. “Where would you advise going to first?” he asks, slightly breathless with excitement.

His friend points to a corner in the left. “There. I think you’d like that corner.”

Bran dutifully goes to where his friend had been pointing, when he comes to the corner of the room, he stares at it and gasps. “The works of Brandon the Reader. What’s this doing here? I thought it was lost in the fire of Winterfell.”

“I think a copy of it was lost. But another copy was made, by Brandon the Reader, for King Aenys. He was a great reader, and so he kept one copy, and offered it back to the Starks when he ascended the throne, but was refused. The Stark lord at the time was not a great reader.” Tommen says.

“Sounds like Robb.” Bran quips, and when Tommen chuckles in response, he feels that flutter again.

Tommen comes to stand at his side, and whispers to him. “Have a look around, see if there is anything you like.”

Bran does so, looking through one manuscript after the other, marvelling at the knowledge stored here, and wondering how no one else has found this place. He looks around, picks up a book and reads the title aloud. “The Treaties of Lions, by Tommen Lannister.” He looks at his friend and asks. “What’s this one about?”

His friend looks almost shy then. “It was written by my namesake, who was Lord of the Rock during the reign of King Jaehaerys the Wise. It talks about how to handle the great and many branches of House Lannister. I think it’s something my father could do with reading.”

Bran flicks through the books, scanning the pages, reading words that don’t make a lot of sense, until he comes to a section newly added. He reads it and then sees the name at the end. “You wrote this bit?” he asks.

Shyly, his friend replies. “Yes. It was something I did in my spare time. I…I… often come down here, when I have nothing else to do.”

Bran reads through the words again, before closing the book and stating. “It’s very good. You should do more of this.”

His friend blushes, and says. “Thank you.” They leave the hall then, making their way back to the surface, and the issues of their world.

* * *

 

**“I like Bran. He is nice, he is different. And I think he likes me. I hope he does.”**


	11. Salt and Iron

**“The Islands have not changed. I do not think they have changed in over three hundred years. The people are still backward, determined to advance through raiding and slaving. Things that are no longer allowed on the mainland. Their blissful isolation has made my relatives idiots. I think, that perhaps the time has come for change.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

Pyke, the place he’d dreamed of returning to for nine long years, it was his now, not because his father had invited him back-he’d come to learn that Balon Greyjoy was never going to do that, the cunt- but because his father was dead. He was Lord of the Iron Islands, and Lord Reaper of Pyke. The King had pronounced him as such, but Theon knew that the lords of the Islands would never accept him just because some southern King pronounced him as such, he’d need to prove to them that he was worthy of the title. That was why he had summoned his uncles and his sister to a council to discuss what to do.

“The Lords of the Islands will not accept you unless you do something that brings them the greatest reward. You will have to ensure that you provide them reason for following you. Doing nothing will not earn you their respect. But you know this already.” His uncle Victarion says, the man is more of a brute than a thinker, so Theon is surprised to hear such words coming from him.

“There is no point telling me what I already know uncle, I would hear what you would advise I do about that. My father built up the Iron Fleet again in secret, violating the treaty he signed with King Robert. This leaves me thinking he was planning something. What was it?” Theon demands.

“Your lord father, was planning a great invasion. The likes of which had never been seen since the days of the Hoares.” Aeron Damphair says.

Theon looks at the man as if he is an idiot, he remembers his uncle, he was once a drinker and fun, it seems finding religion has turned him into a complete bore. “That much is obvious, where was he planning on invading though? Surely not Westeros?” the silence that follows his question makes him exclaim. “He was going to invade Westeros? Was he mad?!”

“Your father was the furthest thing from mad that we have seen. Compared to our own lord father, he was practically sane.” The Damphair retorts.

“Lord Quellon brought reform and sense to the islands.” Lord Rodrik retorts.

The Damphair glowers at the Lord of Harlaw but says nothing. Instead it is left for Theon to ask. “If he was planning on invading Westeros, surely he knew he would get destroyed? The mainland is firmly united behind Robert Baratheon, there is nothing there for him to gain but to be destroyed.”

The Damphair laughs. “If you truly believe that you are naïve boy.” Theon bristles at that, but decides to keep his mouth shut and listen to what the man has to say. “Dorne hates the guts of the man they claim to be the usurper; they would rise in an instant if they were given a chance. The Reach burns with the anger at being replaced by the Lannisters. And the Riverlands is a keg waiting to be lit. Robert Baratheon is not the man he was nine years ago. He would die riding out of the Red Keep for war. And then there are the dragons across the sea. Waiting for their chance to fight.”

Incredulously, Theon asks. “Father was going to ally with the dragons? He was the one who pushed for them to be forgotten about during Lord Quellon’s day was he not?”

“Yes, that was then, when the Targaryens were offering us nothing but their demands. Now they are offering us a chance to make something of ourselves. And that is a chance you would be a fool to refuse.” Damphair responds.

“What chance? Independence?” Theon queries, doubtful of whether or not that is what is truly being offered.

“Yes. They do not want the islands, and I do believe we have the chance to gain more land by doing this.” The Damphair replies.

“If you truly believe that then you are more brain addled than I thought you were Aeron.” Lord Rodrik replies scathingly. “If you truly think the Targaryens would willingly allow one part of their realm to slip from the grasp, let alone different parts of it, then you are nothing but a fool, who deserves to be drowned again.” Theon sees his uncle seethe under the rebuke, and has to hide a chuckle behind his wine up. His uncle turns to him and says. “My Lord, I believe that you would be better served allying with kingdoms providing trade with them, and if you need to raid, raid anywhere but Westeros. Our position is not what it was before. We cannot afford more enemies on the mainland.”

“Are you scared of the land dwellers, Harlaw?” Damphair asks.

Harlaw stares at the man and replies. “I am, as you should be as well. When Balon rebelled all those years ago, they destroyed us almost immediately. It took Tywin Lannister’s susceptibility to flattery to enable us to make the raid on Lannisport. That will not happen again. We cannot attack Westeros now, perhaps ever.”

“Then you are no true Ironborn.” Victarion growls.

Theon stares at his uncles and sighs. “You are all making valid points, but I think Lord Rodrik is right. We cannot do anything in Westeros for now. Would you not agree Asha?”

His sister nods. “I think we would be fools to venture there now, after what happened last time. Somewhere else will need to be chosen.”

Theon looks at the map before them, sighing, he says. “Very well, I think I know where we shall go. Somewhere that has not been visited in a long time. We shall either go to the Summer Isles or to Braavos, and when we do so, we shall make sure we stamp our mark on them.”

* * *

 

**“A Greenlander sits where once the Lord Reaper sat. It disgusts me.”**


	12. Flower Power

**“Renly Baratheon is a strange fellow, he is a Stag, he looks like a Stag, he talks like one as well. But he consorts with flowers. I do not understand how a brother of Robert Baratheon could be so completely different to the man. Even Stannis has his similarities to Robert, but Renly? Renly does not.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

The solar in the Tower of the Hand was big, spacious, comfortable. Renly thought it was wasted on a man such as Ned Stark. The man seemed so unimaginative, he had changed nothing, or at least very little from the time when Lord Arryn served as Hand. The same paintings were there, the same chairs, the same everything. Only the tapestries had changed, and Renly knew that that was down to Lady Stark, rather than her husband. Still, Renly was sensible enough to know that bringing such a thing up with Stark would bring little. No, the man was all business. And rightfully so, he had no personality otherwise.

“I must thank you for coming at so late an hour, Renly, I know that you would prefer to be anywhere else, but I wished to speak with you.” Stark says.

Renly knows enough about the court to know that refusing a summons from the Hand would be political suicide-even if the man is Ned Stark- and so he merely laughs and says. “Truly it was not bother at all, Ned. So, tell me, what was it you wished to talk about?”

Stark seems to shift a little, as if uncomfortable with the question being so direct, but Renly has learned that with a man such as Stark, it is far better to be direct. Eventually, the man speaks. “I wished to talk to you about the City Watch and the matter that Lord Baelish seems to be controlling them, not you.”

Renly takes a sip of his wine and muses on this. “You want to know how I allowed Baelish to take control over them, or rather allow him to think that he had.”

“It does not seem to me as if he thinks he does. To me it seems as if he truly does. There is nothing I have read to suggest that they do not belong to him. They report to him, not you.” Stark says.

Renly nods. “That is true, and that is because Janos Slynt is their commander.”

“And does this not concern you? Surely as Master of Laws, it is your responsibility to ensure that corruption within the city watch is kept to a minimum.” Stark asks.

Renly looks at the man, and finds himself wondering how the man managed to rule over the north for as long as he has, then he remembers that in the north so long as you can out fight your opponent they will respect you, and he finds himself feeling pity for the man, so out of his depth here. “It does not concern me because Slynt, rat that he is, works for me. Baelish merely thinks he owns the man and the Watch because he controls the Purse strings. What he has failed to realise is that though he might own the money, he does not have the name.”

Stark looks confused as he asks. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that, Baelish has no armies to summon, no allies within court. He worked hard and got himself to where he is now. But, he is still just the get of a sellsword. A man like Slynt, sees Baelish as his equal not his superior. And as such he will always look for someone who can actually give him something. And I am that man.” Renly responds.

“So Slynt works for you, not for Baelish. And what exactly has he been telling you then?” Stark asks curiously.

Renly laughs a little at that. “Why, my lord, one might think you are trying to get involved in the intrigue here.” Stark does not look impressed, and so Renly continues speaking. “Baelish is swindling money from the treasury and is using men from the watch to get it done.”

Stark looks completely shocked at this and asks. “Why have you not confronted him about this? Why have you not gone to the King about this?”

Renly laughs. “Go to Robert about something like this? He’d say what he said about Slynt. Better to have a snake you know in the garden, then a viper you do not. Besides, allowing Baelish to swindle the money gives me the perfect reason to keep looking in on him.”

Stark looks as if he wants to object, and Renly cannot help but feel sorry for the man once more, he really is out of his depth. “And what reasons might you have for looking in on him, instead of treating him like the criminal he is?”

“He knows things. He knows people, and he knows things. And I like gathering information. When the time is right, I shall make use of that. For now, I will allow him to dig a hole for himself.” Renly responds.

“All the while the kingdom is burying itself under debt. That will not end well.” Stark points out.

“My Lord, the realm has been burying itself under far worse things than debt since the time the dragons died. Soon enough war will break out, and when it does, only then can true change come.” Renly points out.

“And you would allow the war to come? You would do nothing to stop it?” Stark asks sounding horrified.

“I do not mean the type of conflict you are thinking of. I am thinking of a political war.” Renly says curtly.

“I do not understand.” Stark says.

Renly sighs. “It does not matter if you understand or not, Ned, just promise me that you will stand by my side when the time comes. If you want Robert to reign for longer than he has done so far.”

Just as he thought that brings Stark in and then man shakes his hand. “I will.”

* * *

 

**“One piece has been moved. Now for the rest.”**


	13. Deep Desire

**“King’s Landing continues to disgust me. The people here have no morals, no code, no honour. They do as they wish, and they do not care who they hurt. I do not understand how I could have ever wanted to live in the south as a girl. I must ensure that Sansa does not fall prey to the same illusions that I once had. Otherwise she will suffer.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

The Tourney of the Hand had ended three days ago, four days of splendour and magnificence, and an absolute headache for Ned. Catelyn had seen how much the tourney had eaten away at her husband. He did not like grand gestures, nor did he like being the centre of attention, and yet because the King had commanded it, he had abided by it, even if it had caused him a great deal of pain. Sansa had loved it of course, oohing and aahing at every possible instance. Arya had not been there, she’d been with her dancing master-Catelyn was not sure how she felt about that- and Bran, well she was not sure where Bran had been, but he’d been there of that much she was certain.

Now that the tourney was over, she and her husband could finally sit down and talk. She looks at him and says. “Well I’m glad that that is done.”

Her husband snorts. “As am I. I think Robert is not though.”

Catelyn giggles a little, she’d been there when Robert had created a scene in front of his wife and children. Something to do with wanting to fight in the melee. “He really does seem a bit out of touch though does he not?”

Her husband nods. “I think he wishes he was still eighteen again, with the throne and Lyanna in his sights.”

Catelyn sees just how that upsets her husband and she takes his hand then. “Do you think he’s still not gotten over her?”

She is surprised when he sighs. “I think he has, and I think now, he’s starting to wonder why he brought me back south. I haven’t exactly done much of anything.”

Catelyn runs her hands through her husband’s hair then. “You know that’s not true Ned. You’ve been organising the tourney, a tourney you did not want. You’ve been trying to keep the different factions at court from ripping into one another, and the fact that there has been no bloodshed so far shows that you’ve done well. You’ve also been trying to repay the debt that Robert has accumulated, and finally you’ve been considering who murdered Jon Arryn. You’ve been doing a lot my love. And I think that Robert is not giving you enough credit.”

Her husband looks at her with a pained expression on his face. “That’s just it though Cat, I don’t think Robert wants anything to do with me. He attends council meetings, but he never speaks to me. He never even looks at me. It’s as if I’ve done something wrong, and I have no idea what it is.”

Catelyn sighs. “Have you tried talking to him? Perhaps if you spoke with him, he might be more willing to tell you what it is you might, or might not have done? You know what Kings are like Ned, or rather you know what Robert is like, unless you confront him, he will not tell you anything.”

“I have tried, and nothing has worked.” Ned replies sounding utterly despondent. Then as he so often does, her husband shakes his head, straightens his shoulders and says. “At least the children are having fun, Sansa would not stop talking about the tourney, Bran as well.”

Catelyn smiles at that. “I knew Sansa would love the tourney. And was Bran there for all of it. I cannot remember seeing him there for parts of it.”

Ned chuckles. “He was with Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella for a large part of it, that’s why my love.”

“He’s spending a lot of time with them, do you think he might be trying to court the Princess?” Catelyn asks.

Her husband shrugs. “I do not know. Whatever it is he is planning I hope he is smart about it.”

“Oh I’m sure he will be.” Catelyn replies, she knows her second son, and she knows he is very smart. “Rickon was asking when we’d get to see Robb and Jon again, I think he hasn’t yet realised we will be here for a while.”

At that Ned grimaces. “Do you think it was a bad idea to bring him here. He is so young and there is no one of an age with him for him play with, not like Bran has the Prince.”

Catelyn takes her husband’s hand and says. “I think we made the right move in bringing him here my love. At least here he is with us, rather than wandering around alone in Winterfell. We both know Robb and Jon would be too busy sorting things out there to make time for him. Here he can spend as much or as little time with us as he wants.”

“You’re right. I just worry is all.” Ned responds absent minded.

“I think I might go and see Arya at her dancing lessons tomorrow.” Catelyn says, laughing slightly at the look of surprise on her husband’s face. “I might not completely approve of what it is she is doing, but I want to go and see how good she is.”

Her husband smiles. “She’ll like that. She’s very good you know. Very stubborn and very determined. Just like you.”

Before she can reply, there is a knock on the door. “Come in.” her husband calls out, and in walks Ser Jory Cassel, the captain of her husband’s household guard.

“Sorry to disturb you at so late an hour my lord, my lady, but a messenger has come from Lord Baelish, he wishes to talk to you my lord.” Jory says.

Ned sighs, kisses her on the cheek and then says. “Very well, lead the way Jory.” Catelyn watches her husband leave with an odd sense of foreboding in her, one that she cannot quite explain.

* * *

 

**“I will have Cat, she was always to be mine. I will have her.”**


	14. Mother and Daughter

****

**“I like King’s Landing, it is different to Winterfell, and the people here actually seem to understand me. No one laughs at me for wanting to be a proper lady, nobody sneers at me for not being able to do things that Arya can do. I prefer it here. I feel at home here.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Sansa Stark**

The Tourney of the Hand had been wonderful. So many people had come out to attend it, so many people had flocked to see the tourney being held to honour her father. She had felt proud at that, proud to know that the King considered her father worthy of honouring with a tourney. She had seen the knights of Westeros compete, and someone had even asked for her favour. Ser Loras had given her a rose as well! It had been wonderful. And to top it all off, Arya had not been there, that had been a blessing. Arya had grown even more strange as their time in the capital had progressed, so her lack of presence there had been fantastic. But as with everything, the tourney had had to end, and it was back to being normal and the betrothed of the Crown Prince.

Mother had asked her to attend her in her chambers and so that was where she was, she was not sure what to expect, mother had not spoken to her too much since they had been here, and she had thought for a time that she might have done something wrong, but looking at mother now, she felt reassured that she had not. “So how are you finding King’s Landing. My sweet?” mother asks.

Sansa doesn’t even have to think for long to answer that. “I love it mother. It is so different to Winterfell. It is far more colourful here, the people here ask questions and seem genuinely interested in what I have to say. Everyone has been kind to me as well.”

Mother nods, smiling. “And how have you found the Prince? Has he been nice to you whenever you’ve been spending time with him?”

Sansa nods her head enthusiastically; the Prince is everything she thought he’d be and more. “Oh most definitely mother. He’s so nice and kind. And he always asks after me.”

Her mother nods, still smiling. “That is good. And what of the court, how are you finding that?”

Sansa takes a moment to think over what her mother is asking. It is an odd question she will admit, but still, her mother has asked, and it is rude to not answer. “It is an interesting place. There are so many more interesting people here than there ever were in Winterfell. I quite like it here.” She sees a strange look cross over her mother’s face, and hurriedly says. “Not that I don’t miss Winterfell, I do, it’s just that I prefer King’s Landing.”

Mother takes her hand and says softly. “It’s alright Sansa. I know when I was first betrothed to your uncle Brandon I could not wait to explore Winterfell. It was so new and exciting to me.”

Mother rarely talks about her earlier betrothal to uncle Brandon, and so hesitantly, she asks. “What was he like? Uncle Brandon I mean.”

At that, mother chuckles softly. “He was full of fire. He was always on the move, and he always had a laugh or a quip to make.”

“Was he different to father then?” Sansa asks, she cannot imagine father doing that, but then again she does not really know father.

“Yes and no. He had a good heart, as does your father.” Mother replies. “But why do you ask Sansa?”

Sansa blushes slightly and then replies. “I was just curious. You and father never talk about him. Or about Aunt Lyanna.” She curses herself internally at that.

Mother though does not seem mad, instead, she simply says. “Speaking about your uncle and aunt is painful for your father. So, he does not speak about them. And I… well I never knew your aunt Lyanna, and as for your uncle Brandon, whilst he was my betrothed originally, I have not really thought about him in a long time.”

Sansa nods, and then deciding to change the subject asks her mother. “What did you make of the tourney mother? Did you like it?”

Her mother smiles. “I did. It was quite something. I have not seen a tourney like that since the tourney of Harrenhal, all those years ago.” Mother stops speaking then for a moment, as if lost in thought, before shaking her head and asking. “And what did you make of it Sansa? I saw that you were given a rose by Ser Loras.”

Sansa blushes at that. “I loved it mother. It was very nice. Seeing all those people and all those knights, it was something fabulous, like something out of a song.”

“And I believe someone asked for your favour did they not?” mother asks, her eyebrows raising up suggestively.

If it is even possible, Sansa blushes even more and stammers. “Yes… Ser Donal, I believe he’s a knight from the Stormlands. He is a nice man; he is friends with Prince Joffrey.”

Mother nods, and says. “I see. Have you met many of the friends that Prince Joffrey keeps Sansa?”

Sansa finds the question her mother asks, slightly odd, and so she shakes her head. “Not really, apart from Sandor Clegane and Ser Donal, I’ve not met anyone else. Why?”

Mother shakes her head then. “No reason Sansa. Just make sure to be careful okay?”

Sansa feels frustrated then, she’s sure that if it were Arya in her position mother would not be telling her to be careful, so she merely nods and says. “Yes mother. Of course, mother.”

Mother smiles and says. “Good girl. Now, I believe it is time for dinner. So go, freshen up and then we shall eat.”

Sansa nods, stands up, kisses her mother’s cheek and then walks out of the room. All the while, she wonders what mother meant by her last question, and she finds that she does not want to know.

* * *

 

**“I worry about Sansa. I do not think I was like her when I was her age. But then again, by her age, my own mother was dead. Perhaps it is good that she remains innocent, for the world is dark.”**

 


	15. Council

****

**“By the Gods, I have yearned for some fucking fighting to do for so long now. The Greyjoy rebellion was not enough. I lust for the fight, for the chance to fight some fool, and kill him. I kill Rhaegar Targaryen every night in my dreams now, not because of what he did to Lyanna, but because that has been the only time I have ever felt truly alive. I think, I think this is what my uncle Harbert meant. The time for war is upon us, and I will be damned if I allow it to move past us.”**

* * *

 

**King Robert I Baratheon.**

“Say it again.” Robert commands, the council chamber was sweltering hot, it was as if summer was fighting a desperate battle with autumn and winter, and if so, Robert was sure it was winning.

Pycelle, the dithering old fool speaks once more. “Lord Greyjoy has written that he and the Iron Fleet are setting sail from Pyke, and they intend to raid Bravos.”

Robert snorts. “A bold move from a Greyjoy.” He looks at Ned then and says. “The boy clearly has more of his father in him than you thought Ned.”

Ned looks shocked by the news, and says. “I do not know what to think. A raid on Bravos, is incredibly dangerous.”

“Everything in life is dangerous Ned.” Robert booms back, he finds himself growing tired of his friend’s constant complaints about this, that and the other. “But it is those who seize the danger by the throat and turn it into something for them, who live, who truly live.” Turning to Baelish he asks. “Tell me Baelish, what benefit could we get from an Ironborn invasion of Bravos.”

Baelish seems momentarily stunned, as if he cannot believe that this is happening, Robert wants to laugh. “I think we might get a bit of pressure eased off us, in regards to the debt.”

“Braavos has a navy that would rival the royal fleet and the Redwyne fleet combined.” Stannis says, his brother having returned from whatever nonsense he was doing on Dragonstone. “The Iron Fleet is good, but it is not as good as the fleet that they have. The Greyjoys would be destroyed, and once they are, Braavos will look to dealing with us.”

“So are you suggesting then that we attack them as well brother?” Renly asks, something sly in his tone.

Robert looks at Stannis, and feels that age old hatred rising inside of him. He has never, never liked Stannis, but for once, he is inclined to listen to the man. “I think that attacking them would be wise. It would stop them from gaining the upper hand on us. And it would, as Lord Baelish says, give us a chance to curtail the debt from being issued.”

“Attack Braavos?” Ned exclaims. “That would destroy our trade!”

Robert barks out a laugh then. “Oh do shut up Ned. Our trade with Braavos makes up only a small percentage of our overall trade with everyone else. We do more deals with Volantis than we do with Braavos. If we take Braavos, if we destroy it, we will control them.”

“But can we? Can we destroy it? Their fleet is one of the best in the world. And then there is the faceless men to worry about. They will not simply step aside as we coming barrelling through the door. What about the other free cities?” Ned asks.

“Volantis has long wanted Braavos to fall, Braavos is a threat to their dominance within the east. Furthermore, Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh and Lys all despise Braavos, and see their hegemony as encroaching on traditional rights of their cities. They will not lift a finger, should there be an attack on Braavos.” Varys responds.

“And what happens if you are wrong Lord Varys? We do not know how to fight such a multi-faceted war; it has never been done before.” Ned says.

“One might think you were terrified of fighting, Lord Stark.” Stannis says, and Robert hears the unmistakeably cocky slight to his voice. “Is that the case? Has the Wolf of the North, lost his attitude for fighting?”

 He can see Ned bristling, but the man’s voice is oddly calm when he replies. “I am merely being cautious. I see no need for us to embark on something that could possibly damage the realm so wholly.”

Robert looks at Ned, wondering when his friend became so weak. Braavos is there for the taking, they take Braavos, they control the finances, they finally have their own power. Is that not something Ned had argued for when he first took the throne? It seems his friend has become soft in his old age. Robert looks at his friend, then at the other members of his council, they are all looking at him, and so he takes a breath, then speaks. “I see where you are coming from Ned, but I feel that if we do not take this chance now, we will regret it for as long as is possible. I think the time has come for us to deal with Braavos. Destroy them and we shall hold them to our will.”

He can tell that his friend is grasping at straws when he asks. “What of the Stepstones?”

Robert looks at his friend and says. “They are of no concern to us. The Greyjoys will move through them and take them. By the time we are ready, they will be moving to Braavos. It is time we took control of our own destinies; would you not say?”

Ned looks disheartened, but nods all the same. “Very well, my King. What would you wish for my role to be?”

Robert stares long and hard at his friend, debating whether to let Ned leave for war, or to leave him here. Eventually he decides. “You shall remain here and rule in my stead, I will lead the forces to take Braavos as is my right.” He can tell the others are surprised by this, but they all accept his judgement with a nod.

* * *

 

**“I do not know how to feel about Robert leading a campaign. This could end very badly, or be a resounding success.”**

 


	16. Dragons and Plans

****

**“The waiting, that is the hardest part, waiting and not knowing whether at the end of the day anything will change. I have waited for so long for this, I do not know anything else. I think I might well be scared to move forward. But I am the King, I am the Dragon, and I must move forward. Looking back will do no one any good. It is time.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

“Tell me Lord Connington, do you intend on telling me what exactly has been going on with regards to the Golden Company, or do you intend to act like nothing has happened, again?” Aegon asks his voice sharp.

Connington squirms a little, and though Aegon might normally feel bad about speaking in such a manner, right now, he needs answers. “I am sorry Your Grace. I just feel that we need more time. I need more time, and I promise I will be able to ensure that the company are sorted.”

“Is that not what you said the last time Jon?” Viserys asks, his voice piercing. “How many more times are you going to sit there before us and ask for more time? We are running out of patience. Or at least, I most certainly am.”

Connington does not look at Viserys, something Aegon knows will anger his uncle, but he does look at him pleadingly. “I promise you Sire, give me another two days, and I will convince Strickland to throw his support behind you.”

Aegon looks at the man who has all but raised him, he does not remember his father, or his mother, but he remembers Connington being there, Connington being there when he took his first steps, when he spoke his first words. Connington and Lady Ashara have been his parents, and he will not see the man fall as Viserys wants him to. Sighing, tiredly, he says. “You have one day. Make Strickland see sense, or I will let Viserys go and make the man see sense.”

He can tell Viserys is bristling, but otherwise, the words pass without comment. Connington bows his head and slinks into the shadows. Aegon looks at the cheesemonger, and barks. “So tell me, what word has there been from our friends in the Usurper’s court?”

The Magister is a slippery man, Aegon knows this, has known this from the time he was old enough to truly understand just what sort of man he was dealing with, and when the magister speaks, he considers the response very carefully. “It seems that the Usurper and his Hand are at loggerheads over a variety of issues Your Grace. Primarily, the prominence of the Usurper’s wife’s family at court. It seems they fill every position at court, other than those held on the council and in the Kingsguard. And even then, the Kingslayer is on the Kingsguard still.”

Aegon sees Arthur tense at the mention of his former protégé. “I see, and is this tension something we could use? I do not want another empty lead here. I want something solid.”

The Magister bows his head in acceptance. “Of course Sire. I believe that it is. The usurper sits and drinks and leaves the ruling to his hand. Stark is a man who likes getting directly involved in things, but from what our sources tell me, he has been frustrated at every turn, due to the influence of the Lannisters. They stop him from reforming the treasury, the spending of the crown, the laws of the crown. Anything that does not directly benefit them, they block. The man has been overheard ranting to his wife. He is cracking.”

Aegon leans forward very interested. “So if we lean on Stark, do you think we could finally get some sort of result there? I know that Dorne is there waiting for us. But we need another great house, to ensure that we are not seen as favouriting one over the other.”

The magister nods. “I think so Sire. I think that we can make this work. Just tell me what you want me to do and it shall be done.”

Aegon considers this and then says. “Lean on him. Make him an offer, tell him what he wants to hear. We shall deliver it. I know we can. Tell him Baratheon is breaking under the strain, a strain he can see all too well. We shall have him, I think.”

“He might ask for a marriage.” Rhaenys points out quickly.

Aegon looks at his sister and then at the magister. “If he asks for a marriage, tell him he has to do something for me first.”

Mopatis nods, and makes a note of it, his fat fingers scribbling away on a page. Aegon looks at the man. “You may leave now Magister.” The man looks surprised, but gets up anyway, bows and leaves. Once Aegon is convinced he has gone, he looks at his uncle and asks. “What word do our slivery friends have for us?”

Viserys grins. “They report that Lord Greyjoy intends to attack Braavos.”

Aegon feigns shock, he’d expected as much. “I see, and is the usurper going to be joining in on this?”

“Yes. It seems he has ordered his lords across the realm to prepare. He is leaving Stark in charge of the city whilst he is gone.” Viserys responds.

“How fascinating. The wolf will guard the city filled with lions. We have the perfect opportunity here.” Aegon says grinning. He looks at Connington. “I have changed my mind Lord Connington. You will return to where the company is camped. You will tell them; they have an oath to fulfil. And you will tell them, that the spoils of Braavos are theirs for the taking.”

“You mean to join the usurper?” his uncle asks shocked.

Aegon laughs. “Oh heavens no. I meant to fight alongside the Braavosi. But to take everything they have, before the usurper can get to it. I mean to win.”

* * *

 

**“War, it always comes down to it in the end.”**


	17. Lions

****

**“I’ve often wondered how my older siblings could think themselves smart. Jaime is an idiot, whose only skill is fighting. Cersei is a bag of tits and nothing else. She thinks she is our father come again, but she’s wrong. She has so many issues, I genuinely think that she might be mad. Perhaps there are some truths to those rumours. Perhaps not. Regardless, I will not let either of them damage the family legacy, nor my chance of inheriting. I know what Father is like.”**

* * *

 

**Ser Tyrion Lannister**

Cersei’s room was warm, it was always bloody warm here, he’d only been here twice since coming from the Rock, and this was the second time. He looks around the room, notes the paintings and the tapestries, then looks at his sister and brother, they look so infatuated with one another it is sickening. He has never understood that, but then he does not have a twin. Regardless, he looks at them and then speaks. “Ned Stark is sniffing around court like a dog that has caught the scent of a particularly good piece of meat. I want to know why.”

“Stark is nothing more than a dog. What does it matter what he’s looking for?” Jaime quips.

Tyrion looks at his brother, and wonders how Jaime has ever gotten anything done. “It matters because he thinks that you both had a hand in killing Jon Arryn. No doubt Baelish had a hand in that through that shrew of a sister, that is Lady Catelyn’s sister. Regardless, he thinks you had something to do with it, and he is now looking into every conceivable angle as to how you could have done it, and how he is going to prove that to Robert.”

Jaime looks at him as if he has not a care in the world, the sight angers Tyrion. “But we did not do it, and we all know we did not do it.”

Tyrion sighs, loudly. Running a hand through his hair he says. “That does not matter. Unless we can show properly that someone else did the deed, Stark will continue hounding the trail until he finds something, or he dies.”

“Then why do we not simply kill him?” Jaime asks. It takes Tyrion a moment to realise his brother is serious. “If Stark is going to be such a problem, then I will gladly gut him.”

“Do that and Robert will come hounding all of us and not even father will be able to stop him.” Tyrion replies exasperatedly. He looks at Cersei and implores her. “Surely you see why this is a concern? I thought you wanted Ned Stark on our side.”

His sister shrugs, clearly not wanting to upset Jaime, and clearly not caring either way. “I did, I thought he could serve a purpose. But he has not done anything beyond complain, perhaps removing him permanently would be a better solution than allowing him to poke around.”

Tyrion feels like screaming. “You do not understand then. Stark is Robert’s best and oldest friend, if he were to suddenly die, then not only would the north look at us, Robert would look at us. And as I said before, I do not think we could fight back against the wrath of Baratheon. No, I think we need to find someone who we can realistically pin the blame on, for Jon Arryn’s death. The question is who.”

At this, Jaime is the one who responds. “Why not Littlefinger?”

“Littlefinger?” Tyrion asks, surprise write clear across his face. “Why him?”

This time it is his sister and brother who look as if they want to scream, their faces pulled down in disgust. “Come now brother, surely you have heard the rumours?” When Tyrion shakes his head, Jaime continues. “Before Stark came to court, Littlefinger used to brag about how he’d taken both Tully girls maidenheads. He claims that’s why Brandon Stark fought him, but then that was most likely a lie. Regardless, he has a thing for Lady Catelyn, and that is the main reason he remained so close to her sister.”

Tyrion thinks on that for a moment, he has met Lysa Arryn only three times before, once when he was very small, and the other two times when he was growing up. All three times, he got the impression of a woman slowly cracking under some sort of pressure. It is then that it clicks. “You think he had Jon Arryn murdered to bring Stark here. But then would he know that Stark would bring his wife?”

“No,” Cersei says. “I think he hoped Stark would come down and do something completely against his own interests, and get himself killed. Then Baelish could finally have the thing he’s always wanted.”

“Catelyn Stark?” Tyrion asks aloud, thinking in his head about the Lady of Winterfell. He can certainly see why someone would want her, she bears the mark of great beauty something that has not faded with the passing of time and the bearing of five children. “I think we might just have found enough reason to see it done.” Tyrion says then, his thoughts catching up with his process. “I will need to speak to Pycelle.”

“I’ll speak to Pycelle.” Cersei says immediately, and then at his and Jaime’s questioning looks replies. “I need to see him about certain things anyway. It would do more good if I went to see him, Baelish will not suspect anything.”

Tyrion nods, though he can tell Jaime is not buying it. “Very well. Now, we must build a solid case against him. If I were not heading off to Braavos I would do more here. But Jaime, I need you to track Baelish.”

Jaime nods. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Tyrion nods, standing up, he gets to the door before he turns and says. “Make sure nothing else happens whilst I am away.” His siblings nod and he leaves, though he has a feeling something will happen, something always does.

* * *

 

**“The game, it is alive and well, and now, now we have our own advantage.”**


	18. Dance

**“I miss Winterfell. I do not feel at home in the south. I miss the honesty with which people in the north speak. I miss not having to constantly second guess what someone means. If Ned were not here, I think I would return to Winterfell at once. I might have been born a Tully, but I am a Stark now.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

“You look absolutely exhausted Ned. What have you been doing?” Catelyn asks, as she looks at her husband, the candles burning low in their room.

Her husband laughs. “Looking over everything for this war that Robert insists on fighting.”

Catelyn feels a pit open in the bottom of her stomach then. Though Ned is remaining behind to oversee the running of the capital, there are still many thousands of young men coming to the capital, to take part in the invasion of Braavos. “Why is Robert so insistent on invading Braavos? I do not think there can be that much to gain from the place surely?” She would understand if he were looking to remove the debt that the throne has, but it seems he is not.

“I think he wants one last thing to add to his name.” Ned replies, sounding so very tired. “I think Robert is of the opinion that he has done nowhere near enough to justify earning a reputation for himself. I think he is stuck in the rebellion, he wants to be the man he was. He does not want to face the man he is.”

Catelyn hears something in her husband’s voice then, something she can’t quite place. It sounds like a mixture of bitterness and disappointment. She has never truly thought to examine the relationship her husband has with the King, she knew they had grown up together, and were close. But now, now she thinks there might be some resentment in there. Tentatively, she asks. “Do you think he is making a mistake?”

“Yes,” Ned replies without hesitation. “I think he has been convinced that this is the right thing to do. He wants to go to war. The reasoning behind it does not matter to him, all he wants to do is fight. I worry he might do something completely dangerous and reckless.”

Catelyn sees the way her husband’s shoulders hunch together, and she can tell he is worried. She is worried as well. Robert is not the man he once was, he is not exactly completely overweight, but neither is he the muscular man he was in his youth. Should something happen to him, Prince Joffrey would become King, and though the Prince has shown some manner of respectability, there is something about him Catelyn does not like. “Have you tried talking to him about this?” she asks.

Her husband sighs again. “I have. But he won’t listen. He never listens anymore. He merely laughs at me and tells me I’m being overly worried. I do not think he cares whether he lives or dies anymore, and that worries me.”

Catelyn nods, but she does not know what to say to soothe her husband’s worries, and she doesn’t exactly what to add to them, but she feels that this is something he needs to hear. “I overheard a conversation today.” She says, Ned looks up at her, his eyebrows raised in silent question. That encourages her to go on. “I think it was Petyr and someone else. One of his employees. They were talking about the sort of things they could gain from this war. Something to do with money, and how it was all paying off. I didn’t quite understand it.” Truth be told, she was not sure if she did want to understand it. After all, Petyr was her friend from childhood, did she really want to know what man he had become?

Ned looks quite concerned. “I think you might just have discovered something that will be very useful to us.”

Surprised she asks. “What do you mean? Are you trying to pull Petyr down?”

Ned runs a hand through his hair, a gesture she knows means he is distressed. “I think that Petyr has been doing a lot of things that he should not have been doing. What you heard, to me symbolises more of that. I think we might have found the reason he was so willing to prompt the King into war.”

“I’m not sure I follow.” Catelyn replies, her mind reeling.

Ned takes her hand then. “Cat, my love, Baelish is not the man you think him to be. He seems friendly, and he seems kind, but I’ve read the accounts for the treasury, I’ve seen everything. Nothing adds up. Yes, Robert spends a lot of money, but the crown should not be in debt, the books suggest everything is balanced, but we are in debt. There are two records of everything. One which is presented for the administration, and the one which Petyr himself keeps. He has been swindling money from the crown.”

Catelyn feels as if she has been hit by wildfire, and yet at the back of her mind this does not surprise her. She remembers Petyr has a boy, always hoarding, and taking what was not his to take. Weakly she asks. “What will you do?”

Ned is still holding her hand, and she is grateful for that, for she thinks that if he were not, she would faint. “I will give him a chance to come clean.”

Immediately Caitlin shakes her head. “No, don’t do that. It would be far too dangerous to give him a chance. If you do that then he’d simply find a way to shift the blame to someone else. If Petyr has done what you say he has done, then you must present the evidence as soon as you can.”

Ned looks shocked, but then he says. “Robert will not look at it now. And then Queen will not bother to care.”

“Then as Hand of the King you must do it. You must bring down Petyr, and you must do it quickly.” Catelyn says.

* * *

 

**“The bell has been struck. Time has begun.”**

 


	19. Warboys

****

**“The sun and the sea. Nothing compares to it. I realise now what I’ve been missing my whole life. This is what I was meant to do. I was meant to lead the Fleet, and I was meant to command. I will do myself proud here. I will make a name for myself. And soon enough, the world will know my name. I am Theon Greyjoy, and I am the Lord Reaper of Pyke.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

The waves were beating against the sides of the ship, his ship, the Pride of Iron. It was a ship he had named, and now he was sailing it. Leading it into battle, leading his people into battle. It was a heady feeling, knowing that he was finally in control of what he needed to do. For too long, someone else had dictated to him what he could and could not do. No longer, from today, Theon Greyjoy was his own man. The ship, and the hundreds of ships following him, proved that. It was a great feeling, he walked around the deck of the ship, dressed in black as night armour, his bow, and quiver of arrows nearby, he was waiting for the sighting of the enemy. The Braavosi, and their rich plunder. It would be something to sing of.

Asha and Victarion are on their own ships, leading their own men and galleys, preparing for the fight. He’d given them the plans; they would sail into the channel and strike hard and fast. Drawing the Braavosi toward the wider fleet, and then the real fun would begin. Aeron was somewhere on another ship, no doubt being all solemn and grim. Theon wondered what had happened to his uncle, to turn him from the fun loving drunk, Theon remembered, into the man he was today. As the horns sound into the distance, he straightens up and listens intently. Today, his legend will be made, he does not want it to go wrong. He counts down the minutes, waiting eagerly, deciding whether or not he should fire first, or let someone else do that. The minutes’ tick by. His impatience begins to grown, but still, he does not mind, he will wait. He has waited long enough before. Eventually, he sees the ships. They come hurtling down, burning, breaking, screaming. He smiles. “Men at arms!” he bellows.

His men rush into their positions, a well-oiled manoeuvre that makes him smile. They had trained long and hard for this. And now, he watches as they prepare, the spitfires and scorpions loaded with their weapons. He counts down, and when it seems appropriate, he barks. “Fire.” Like that thousands of bolts and missiles go racing out of the ships. They attack the ships of the Braavosi. The Braavosi ships are already burning, smoking into oblivion. His tactics ensure that they never make it back. He smiles, watching as his work comes to fruition. Onward they go, breaking through rank upon rank of wood, and metal. The ships sink, men die screaming. He knocks an arrow into his bow, and aims, he sees someone approaching on a ship. He fires, the man falls. He knocks another arrow, he aims, he fires. It goes on like that for what seems hours, but is perhaps no longer than a few moments. He takes aim and fires. Men fall, their bodies sinking to the bottomless depths of the ocean.

The Braavosi are flagging, he is surprised. Theon had expected there to be more resistance. He does not think this is their main naval force, not there must be another fleet docked somewhere else. He decides they had best go and find that. “Men, formation. We break.” He bellows through the din. At once his men do as bid. They might not like him, they might not even respect him, but they have been told since birth that when their lord gives orders they follow. And so, they do that now. He watches as the order is passed down the chain of command. The ships move, his own ship moves as well. He takes aim and fires at any man who comes too close, the spitfires and scorpions are rested for now. He watches, as the Braavosi fleet burns, another soon to come.

They find the enemy, but they also find the Westerosi. The banners of Redwyne and Baratheon plain for all to see. He feels a lump in his throat, there is fighting already going on, but he knows his plan, and he knows he needs to stick to it. “Fire.” He barks. The orders are passed down the command, and the spitfires and scorpions are unleashed. Theon watches as more ships are turned to dust, some of them are likely Westerosi ships. He finds he cannot muster enough to care right now. They move closer, he draws his bow, knocks an arrow, fires. They continue like that. There are a lot of men, bodies, all piling together. Sweat drips off him, like a tidal wave. The waves are running red. The bodies are going to be dripping in, drops and droves, no one knows when this will end. They push forward. The Braavosi are breaking, he can feel it, they all can.

The last push comes, with a great roar, and a great smash. They break through a hull, there will be no triumphant landing though. They all know that. They will move and then the real fighting will begin. He fires his arrows, praying to any god that lives. He fires his arrows, his heart racing. The true test of mettle will come soon. He hopes he has what it takes to defeat the foe. An arrow whizzes by his face, and he breathes in relief. They move, onward, always onward. Never looking back, not since he was a nine-year-old boy. The ships break, and then the landing begins. The invasion begins.

* * *

 

**“I can’t feel anything. Oh Mother why did this happen? I cannot feel anything. Mother, help me! Father, help me! Someone, please God help me!”**


	20. Kill the Boy

****

**“I have waited for this moment for years. Ever since I was old enough to understand why I was growing up in exile, and not in the Red Keep. This is the moment that will define me. The usurper has come here, I will destroy him, or I will try to. But regardless, he will know me, and he will fear me. Of that I am certain.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

The sky looked as if it was bleeding. Fire was encroaching on the shore; the waves were burning. The Ironborn, the Redwyne fleet and the usurper’s fleet had destroyed the power of Braavos. Its naval power was gone, defeated in the blink of an eye. Aegon had watched from the walls of the city, as the thing that Braavos boasted of was destroyed. It had not filled him with confidence. He had thought that there would be more of a fight. But apparently not. He had gotten changed as quickly as possible. His armour was black as night, his dragon helm rested in his arms. The armour his father had worn was destroyed at the Trident, but this was similar. Connington had seen to that, the only good thing the man had done so far, apart from get the company, and even then, Aegon had done that himself.

The Golden Company were a fickle bunch, the best sellsword company in the entire known world. They would only fight for the right price, and once they made a contract they never broke it. Aegon had spent a very long time trying to figure out what could bring them to his side. Then it had clicked. He’d offered them the chance to witness the chaos in Braavos. An unusual offer, he’d admit, but it was one that had worked. There was nothing a sellsword liked more than seeing Braavos in chaos. The city had done a lot to earn the ire of sellswords, especially the company. Aegon had used that, sugar coated the words, and convinced the Sealord to allow them in. now the plan was coming together. Braavos was panicking, and he would take full advantage of that.

Drums sound in the distance, a bell tolls, the titan roars. Braavos is a city preparing for war. A war it should have seen coming from a mile off. Aegon has learned that when it comes to money, there is not anything that will stop a noble from ensuring he has no debt. Be it plundering a neighbour, raping a woman, anything to avoid debt. This war has come as no surprise. He knows what needs to be done, he has always known. There will be no true fight between himself and the usurper, he will be there, taunting the man, reminding him of all that could have been his and wasn’t. The bells toll once more, and Aegon turns away from his vigil. He looks at his uncle who nods, they move out from where they have been based and begin the movements. It is important to keep distance now, the war must come first. This is but the first step in the long movement toward redemption. The throne, it is calling to him. He can hear the song, and soon enough, he will play the song.

They march in step, the gates of Braavos are flown wide open. The Westerosi have brought battering rams, and all kinds of other weapons that a city like Braavos would not dream of having. He laughs, his sword drawn, he counts down. Waiting for the right moment, then with a shout, he leads the charge. It sends such a rush down his spine, through his very being. This feeling of being in control, of being able to dictate terms. For too long his life has been dictated by others, now he is in control. His sword cuts through a man’s arm, he laughs, spinning, then another fall. Viserys and Ser Arthur at his side, they push through, not caring who falls. They move and move, the dance never ending. His sword sings, humming with pleasure, the thought of finally being free, of being used. Gods this is good, this is what he’s missed. This is better than fucking a woman, this is better than anything else. The rush, the sheer adrenaline, it is everything and more.

Men flash before his eyes, men he does not know, men he will never know. Men he does not care to know. They are just objects, things that must be destroyed. His sword does the work for him, cutting down those who would get in the way, whilst others fall because of other things. He does not care; his mind is intent on just one thing. Find Robert Baratheon. He will not engage the man, but he needs to leave an impression. The usurper must know that a scion of Rhaegar Targaryen lives on. That his dream went unfulfilled. He keeps moving, his body echoing with the sound of battle, perhaps when this is done he will talk to Rhaenys and Viserys about their evident feelings for one another. Right now, though, he needs to focus. Another being falls, this one covered in roses. He laughs at the absurdity of it, Braavos is breaking. Creaking. The walls are slowly falling apart. The city will be in ruins after this. The thought makes him smile. He hates Braavos.

As he strolls through the blood-soaked streets, he finds himself wondering just what it would be like to see the usurper die. To be the one to kill the usurper. The man took his mother and father away from him. The man denied Rhaenys the chance to grow up a Princess. The man deserves to die. And yet, he knows the moment he sees the usurper standing there before him, that he will not kill the man. Not yet anyway.  He looks at the man, and the man looks at him. Hatred courses through him. This is the man who killed his father, and destroyed his mother. He looks at the man and raises his visor, in a deep voice he says. “Your time will come.” He spits at the ground, then turns and walks away. With that the retreat of the company begins. In the chaos, they leave with gold looted from the Iron Bank, with all kinds of other things. And Aegon, Aegon leaves with a smile.

* * *

 

**“A ghost. That was what I saw.”**


	21. Bend

**“Ah Braavos, a city that for so long was a pain in the side of the Iron Throne. No Targaryen King ever brought the damned city to heel. And yet I have done so. I believe this will be the crowning achievement of my reign. I am more than happy to have it be so. This, this is more than a legacy. I have destroyed the Titan, and now, now we are secure.”**

* * *

 

**King Robert I Baratheon**

Triumphant, that was how Robert felt. He had taken on the Titan and destroyed him. As he sat looking over the great hall from the Sealord’s Palace, he could not help but smile. This was an amazing feeling. The Titan was on his knees, and now the killing blow would come. He looks at the man kneeling before him and says. “Do you know why we have come here? Why we reached this point?”

The Sealord is a middle-aged man, perhaps a few years older than Robert himself, he seems bowed and broken. His voice is soft. “I do not my King.”

It is with great satisfaction that Robert says the next few words. “Braavosi greed. You have for too long demanded things but not offered a fair return. I have looked through all the trade deals you have agreed with myself and my predecessors, and in all of them, Braavos is the one who has benefitted. I do not know what compelled a crowned monarch take orders from a lowly city such as yourself, but I know that that ends here. Today Braavos’ power is broken.”

The nobles who surround the hall murmur in agreement, the Sealord looks up then and asks softly. “What of the debt the throne owes the Iron Bank?”

Robert laughs, admiring the gall of the man. “Did you not hear what happened to your precious bank Sealord? Your bank has been looted by my men. The debt we owe has been written off because of that. Your bank has no more collateral on us, nothing. You have nothing. The debt, it is gone. You are now servants to my will.” He feels a lot of pride in saying that.

“And what is your will Sire?” the Sealord asks, though Robert can hear a mocking tone in the man’s voice.

“My will?” Robert muses aloud. He had thought long and hard about this, trying to decide what would be the right thing to ask of the Braavosi, the right thing to use to punish them. Eventually he had reached a decision. “My will is that from this day forth, Braavos will be a vassal of the Iron Throne. You will never be able to trade with anyone without the permission of the throne, you will not sell a loan to anyone without the throne’s permission. The throne shall determine the tariffs you set, and the rates of interest also set. We shall determine all of this and more.”

“And if this is deemed unacceptable?” the Sealord asks.

Robert stares at the man, surely the man is not so foolish as to deem this unacceptable. If he wanted to Robert could order his men-and they are his regardless of what their lords think- to destroy everything in Braavos. After a moment, he laughs and says. “Then the city will burn, and you will be remembered as the Sealord who allowed his city to burn, instead of swallowing his pride.”

He can tell his words have a profound effect on the Sealord-good that is what he was hoping for- the man seems to hesitate, eventually, he sighs. His voice is heavy with grief when he replies. “Then I, as Sealord of Braavos and representative of my people, do hereby swear fealty to you, Robert Baratheon, King of Westeros, and do recognise you as our liege lord, from this day to our last.”

Smiling, Robert stands, and walks down to where the man kneels. He places his hands on the man’s shoulders and says. “I accept your oath of fealty. Rise.” He helps the man up, then embraces him with the hug of friendship. He might be many things, but he is no fool. Once the embrace is ended, he looks at the man and says. “Go, have something to drink, eat, we will discuss the finer details of things later.” The man bows his head and turns and leaves.

Once the man has gone, he hears his son ask. “Why did you let him keep his head, father?”

Robert turns and looks at his son. The boy had not done much during the storming of the city, but he had fought well once they were in the city, at least that was what Ser Meryn told him, but Robert did not much care. The boy was here now, and had shown an eagerness to come that he had not thought him capable of. He takes a breath then explains his reasoning. “The Sealord was chosen by a majority of the powerful here in Braavos. It does no good to replace him with someone else. He has an established network of allies and enemies. That is something I can use. Appointing someone new would take more time, and we do not have time.” He thinks of the ghost he saw as he fought, Rhaegar’s armour glistening in the sunlight, Rhaegar standing there taunting him, and he knows the time is soon coming.

“Do you think the man and the city will remain loyal?” his son asks curiously.

Robert considers this question, he thinks over the thing he saw, and he thinks on the images he saw in that house, and he shudders silently. Aloud, he looks at his son and says. “I think they will. If they do not, we will come back with all the might of the kingdom and destroy them.” He sees his son nod, and he knows there is still some work to be done.

* * *

 

**“We shall rise from the ashes. We always do. Dragons could not stop us.”**


	22. Trial

**“Justice, for too long we have denied ourselves justice. There is a lack of it in Robert’s court. And now perhaps that will change. Today we make a big step into ensuring that corruption and extortion are not tolerated. Today, the mockingbird shall fall, and the future will shine brightly.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The small council chamber was packed and the heat coming from the numerous bodies here was stifling. Ned looks around the chamber and sees the Baratheon men, and the Lannister men, he does not like this, it reminds him too much of what he’d heard of his own father’s trial. Yet he knows that this is the only way to ensure justice. Littlefinger will not get out of this. He will be brought down, and perhaps they can sort out the mess of the crown’s finances. He looks at Ser Jaime Lannister, a man he detests and says. “Bring him in.” the knight nods, and the doors open, Littlefinger saunters in a smile on his face.

“What is all this about? There is a lot of important business I need to attend to Lord Stark.” Littlefinger says, looking around the room with his beady eyes.

Ned takes a breath, then in what Cat calls his lord’s voice he says. “Sit down Lord Baelish. The council has much to talk about with you.”

Baelish takes a seat, but as he does so he quips. “Four of the council are at war with Braavos. All I see here are lackeys and fools.”

Ned grits his teeth and says. “I am the Hand of the King; the King has given me the power to do as I see fit. And that means questioning you about some irregularities in the accounting of the Seven Kingdoms.” He gestures for the books to be brought out, and as such Jory does so, placing them on the table before them. He allows Littlefinger just a minute to look at them before he picks a date and says. “On the third day, of the third moon of the two hundred and ninety-sixth year after the Conquest, it is said here that the balance in the crown was two hundred thousand dragons.” He points to another book and says. “And yet here, it says the actual balance was fifty thousand dragons.” He looks up at Baelish and asks. “Can you tell me why there is a discrepancy here?”

Baelish looks at him, something akin to thinly veiled disgust on his face. “Perhaps they were done at different times in the day. You know the King; it is not past him to spend one hundred and fifty thousand dragons in a day. Or perhaps there was an error.”

Ned looks at the man, wondering just how he can sit there and act so blithely. Gritting his teeth, he removes his hand from the cover and says. “Then it is you who made the mistake. The first book is your own personal ledgers, whilst the second is the royal ledgers. Would you care to explain that?”

Baelish does not show any surprise. “Perhaps my assistant made a mistake in entering the information?”

“You allow your assistant to handle the personal ledger?” Ned asks stupefied.

“Sometimes I did yes. But then I fired the boy, for I realised he was making mistakes.” Baelish replies.

Ned feels an air of uncertainty come over him then, something that is furthered when Baelish says. “On the second day of the eighth month of the two hundred and ninety-seventh year after the conquest, the crown had one hundred thousand dragons in the treasury. Both books should show that.”

Ned has a quick look through the book, looking for the date, he sees it in one, and then the other. He feels something like desperation closing in, is Littlefinger really going to get off that easily? He looks at the man and he can tell he thinks the same thing. That gives Ned the determination to ask. “Tell me Lord Baelish, where were you on the day Lord Arryn fell ill?”

Baelish looks surprised by this turn of conversation, but blithely answers. “I was working in one of the brothels I own. Why?”

Ned looks at the man and asks. “Then can you explain why five of your attendants have placed you here in this very keep, stealing things from Maester Pycelle’s cupboard?” Pycelle had provided that bit of information, it might be a bit of an embellishment, but the sharp inhale of breath he hears from Baelish suggests that it is true.

“And what of it? I needed something so I took it.” Baelish replies.

Ned looks at the man and asks. “So you need Tears of Lys, Mandrake root, and nightshade? And why might you need that?”

Both he and Baelish stare at one another for a long period of time, both daring the other to blink first. Eventually, Baelish cracks, as Ned knew he would. “I needed it to ensure that my plans went accordingly.”

Ned feels anticipation grow within him. “What plans were these?”

Baelish laughs, and Ned properly looks at the man, finding himself surprised to see that the man’s hands are shaking. “I wanted you here in the south. I wanted to make sure you came south. Because then I could get my revenge.” Baelish’s words come out slurred suddenly, and Ned wonders what has happened.

“Revenge? What for?” Ned asks, his interest piqued, perhaps he might well get the man now.

Baelish snorts, and a bit of spittle comes out. “Revenge for what your brother did to me. For what you did to me. You took Cat away from me. She was always supposed to be mine, and now she will be.”

“So you killed Jon Arryn to bring me here? To what? Kill me?” Ned asks.

“I didn’t need do that. I wanted to watch you suffer. There is so much happening here you do not know Stark. Your honour would kill you, and I would have Cat to myself.” Baelish replies, grinning like a fool.

Ned stares at the man and replies. “You are declared guilty of conspiring to harm an official of the crown, and for the murder of Jon Arryn.” He looks at the gold cloaks in the room and barks. “Arrest him, and throw him in the black cells.” The men rush to obey, and as they do so, Baelish yells something that worries him.

“Soon the world will know Stark. Your secrets will come out, and the dark will come.”

* * *

 

**“Baelish could not know.”**


	23. Brothers Baratheon

****

**“Our family is a complicated one. We have never been close. Robert was never a father, never a brother. Stannis did the best he could, but he was never meant for anything. He resents me I know, and that pains me. All I ever wanted was for someone to care for me. For someone in my family to care. But none of them seem to. If that makes me a traitor, then so be it. I will be a traitor. Love can never be wrong, even if your family do not love you back.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

Braavos was somewhere in the distance. They had set sail, but for now there were other things to discuss. Chaos was sure to follow this move. They were richer, but now they had other things to contend with. Renly looks at his brothers and sighs. “Tell me why we are here Robert. We will not be in King’s Landing for another two days, what was so urgent that it could not wait till then?”

As expected, his brother laughs. “I didn’t summon you here because I wanted to talk to you lad. If I could go a day without speaking to either one of you, I’d be fine. No I am here because Stannis wanted to speak to you. To us both.”

Renly is surprised by that; he never knew Stannis for being someone who wanted to talk about anything. He’d not talked about the reason he’d just upped and left and never replied to any of the letters Renly had written to him. So, it is with some reluctance he asks. “So tell me Stannis, what is it you wished to talk about?”

His brother looks at him, then at Robert, before asking. “Where is the boy?”

“Joffrey? He is in his cabin, sleeping. He had a bit much to drink.” Robert replies a fond smile on his face.

Stannis nods. “Good. He should not hear this.”

“Hear what?” Renly asks, his patience running thin.

Stannis looks at him dismissively and says. “I cannot go back to King’s Landing with you. I have to return to Dragonstone.”

That comes as a huge surprise to Renly. “Why? What is happening at Dragonstone that means you have to neglect your duties?”

“Nothing is happening on Dragonstone, that concerns you Renly. I cannot go back to King’s Landing because I do not think I would leave there alive.” Stannis replies.

Renly looks at his brother and bursts out laughing. “I did not think you were prone to hysterics. What have you done? Have you got a debt with someone? Are you a gambler, why can’t you return to King’s Landing?”

Once again his brother looks at him with barely concealed loathing and says. “Because there is someone who wants me dead.”

Renly cannot believe he is hearing this. “Who? Who would want you dead?”

Stannis does not even look at him. “The Queen.”

Renly expects Robert to be outraged, and is very surprised when his brother merely laughs. “Not this again Stannis.”

Renly looks at his brothers surprised and confused. Has there been some sort of revelation that he has missed? He would not be surprised if there has been, he does not pay attention to the drama that is his older two brothers relationships. They never cared for him, so he does not care for them. He tunes them out a little, but focuses again when Stannis speaks. “I am telling you, your wife wants me dead. She sees me as a threat to her precious sons. I will not go back there, when she could have me killed at any moment.”

“Have you given her any reason to actually want you dead?” Renly asks curious. He knows Stannis is intolerable and sometimes downright annoying, but someone actually wanting him dead? That begs a question.

Stannis glowers at him, and once more Renly is left wondering just what he did to anger his brother so. “I have done nothing but my duty. I have carried out my task as master of ships with efficiency and skill. That is why she wants me dead. She wants a puppet in that position.”

“And you know this for a fact?” Renly asks.

“No he does not. But as always, Stannis likes to be dramatic. He is worse than you on that front. He continues to complain about all of these things, but offers no evidence of them actually existing.” Robert blusters. The head of their family looks at Stannis and says. “You will come to King’s Landing and you will resume your duties as master of ships, or I will hang you as a traitor.”

Stannis looks as if he wants to protest, but he merely bows his head and murmurs. “Very well Your Grace.”

Robert nods then adds. “And bring that red priest of yours. I hear your wife has grown rather fond of her. I want to see her for myself.”

Nervously Renly asks. “Is that wise? Would it not create a false impression with the Faith? They are after all one of the few things that keeps the people in line, and the red god is something that Aerys was interested in.”

Immediately, he feels as if he’s said the wrong thing. The room goes silent, his brothers stare at him, and he remembers why he never speaks in front of them. He might be very good at talking to everyone else, but around them he turns into a child. A scared boy, who never knew his parents. Stannis is the one who speaks then, his voice soft. “It will be fine Renly. Melisandre is not like that.”

For a brief moment, it is as if Stannis is back to how he was before the rebellion. Kind and caring, but then his eyes harden as he looks to Robert, and Renly feels a pang in his chest. “Good.” Robert says. “Bring her here and let us get this done.”

* * *

 

**“Sometimes I wonder what might’ve happened had our parents not died. Would we have been closer? Perhaps we would have. But it does no good to think on what ifs.”**


	24. Home Again

****

**“Honour. That is what Jon Arryn supposedly taught us. I do not know what Ned got from that, but what I got from that was that honour was a thing a lord could not afford to have. There are far too many people who will want to stab you in the back and take advantage of you, for you to afford having honour. I grew up as the heir, always expecting to one day rule. Ned didn’t. And I think that is where his failure will be.”**

* * *

 

**King Robert I Baratheon**

“This wasn’t what I was expecting to find when I returned from Braavos, Ned.” Robert says, mildly unimpressed by his friend’s attempt to purge the court. Ned has always tried to do what was right, and whilst Robert appreciates the effort, it has now caused a lot of problems. “Tell me what prompted you to investigate Baelish?”

Ned looks oddly guilty, and that arouses his suspicions. “I received a hint from a reliable source that not everything was as it seemed with Baelish. I decided to pursue it, and I stumbled upon the charges I laid against him.”

Robert looks at his friend, he’s known Ned since they were boys, but whereas he feels he always had a more realistic view of the world, Ned was always one chasing justice, even where it did not exist. He reads through the sheet of charges. “Corruption, extortion, swindling from the royal accounts. Bribery and blackmail. Well those last two charges could see half the lords in Westeros arrested for some crime or the other. Tell me Ned, how solid is your evidence?”

Ned looks surprised. “Very. I have witness testament from several of his closest employees, and those he kept within his circle. As well as from Maester Coleman.”

Robert exhales. “Coleman? That old dog is involved in all of this?”

“Not involved no, but he did overhear something, which he brought to Jon.” Ned replies.

Robert sighs. Things between him and Jon had not gone too well toward the end. Jon was always there, a conservative hand in the running of government, trying to keep things the way they had always been. Robert had wanted to change things, and they had argued. Now the man was gone, and it seemed change was coming, and now he was scared. The image of that black knight standing before him, that voice, it echoes in his head, but he shuts that out for now. Instead he turns to Ned and says. “Very well. And who was present when you tried the man?”

“Varys, Pycelle, the Kingslayer, and various members from different households.” Ned replies.

Robert is surprised by that, quite a heavily Lannister influenced trial party then. Perhaps he was wrong about his friend, perhaps not. Regardless, he does not quite care. Instead he looks at his friend and says. “Very well, I will have Baelish executed in two days’ time. I want you to start looking for replacements for him.”

He is not surprised when Ned replies. “I have already got a few suggestions.”

Intrigued, Robert asks. “And who might they be?”

“One is Wyman Manderly, another is his son Wylis, they have done brilliantly well in ensuring White Harbour profits from trade. Then there is Kevan Lannister, though I do not think we could rely on him being impartial. Then there is Lord Rykker who has done well with Duskendale. Finally, there is Baelor Hightower, a man known for his skill and patience.” Ned replies.

Robert considers the names listed by his friend, eventually he says. “Rykker could be good, though he has dragon leanings, and I do not think that would be the right move right now. Bring Lord Wyman down and let us see how he does. We do not have to worry about the Iron Bank, our debt with them has been written off as we now own them.” He says that last bit with an onus of pride.

“I have been meaning to congratulate you on that Your Grace.” Ned says then, though his words are slow as if he is building up to something. “I have a question.”

“Ask it.” Robert demands.

“How long do you think Braavos will remain loyal? The Sealord might well be replaced soon, and then there are all those who would want to break our hold over the city. How can we ensure they are secure and loyal?” Ned asks.

Robert considers this question, it is one that has been bothering him for some time, ever since he decided to head forward with the conquest. He looks at his friend and says. “I have left men I believe loyal there with troops to garrison the place. I have also told the Sealord that if he wishes to hold a new election, he will need to get my approval. And if anyone tries to destroy our hold over the city, I will destroy them. Lys, Tyrosh and Myr all benefit from us controlling the city. As does Volantis. Pentos is too little of a city to matter, as is Lorath. I cannot see anyone who would want us not to hold the place.”

Ned looks concerned then. “And what about this invitation of bringing Stannis’s red woman here? Do you not think that could antagonise the faith?”

Robert laughs. “Ned, since Jaehaerys the Wise agreed a term of contract with the Faith, the King on the Iron Throne has become the Faith. And as such, I am the Faith. I am not going to convert to the red god. I am merely going to see what she has to say, and perhaps see if Stannis is actually fucking her.” He laughs at the look on his friend’s face then. Then another thought enters his head and he asks. “Ned, do you think the dragons have another ally?”

His friend looks surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you think there are others other than those fools in Pentos who are supporting them?” Robert asks, thinking of the man with the armour. The armour that was Rhaegar’s.

His friend looks surprised but shakes his head. “No. They are dead in the water Sire.”

Robert nods and then says. “You may go now Ned. Leave, enjoy the evening with your wife and children. On the morrow we resume business.” He watches his friend leave, and gasps slightly at the pain in his side.

* * *

 

**“Closer now, so close. Just a little bit further.”**


	25. Snake

****

**“We tread the ground softly. Never disturbing the grass, but always ensuring that we know where the wind blows. For too long have we been considered nothing more than an addition. A burden to the rest of the realm. They took our family, and now we shall take theirs. We will rise. Unbowed, Unbent and Unbroken.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Doran Martell**

The Palace of the Sun was a distant memory, or at least it had been. He had come back to Sunspear, determined to sort out the issues that needed addressing. He did not have long, he knew that, but there were things only he could do. And as such, he had summoned Oberyn to the Palace as well, away from his explorations in Essos. This was too important, his brother needed to know. The time was coming. And they would all need to be ready, Arianne was doing her part, but now his brother would need to play a role.

“You asked for me brother?” Oberyn asks, sat opposite him in a chair decked with sparseness.

Doran nods. “I did. We have had word from our friends at court. It seems that Petyr Baelish has been executed for crimes against the crown.”

As expected, Oberyn laughs. “What of it? The man did us more of a favour than anyone else in that sinkhole, by ensuring the usurper was in debt. The man’s forced invasion of Braavos has ensured that now the King will not need to deal with the debt.”

Doran nods. “This is true. And yet, Stark was the one who acted on Baelish. The council that judged against Baelish was made up of Lannisters and roses. Not Baratheon men.”

Oberyn looks at him somewhat surprised. “So Stark has allied with them then has he?”

Doran sighs. “Our friends in the capital, say that they do not know for sure. But it certainly seems that the Lannisters used him to get rid of Baelish and that Stark was more than willing to allow them to do that. It seems he wanted Baelish gone.”

Oberyn laughs. “Well, I cannot say I blame him. The man was most definitely a treacherous bastard. But then, if Stark is willingly working with the Lannisters, perhaps we misjudged him? Arryn barely managed to keep the Lannister influence out of the court of the usurper, if Stark is unable or unwilling to, do you think that will change certain people’s allegiances?”

As always his brother cuts to the heart of the matter. Doran considers the question for a brief moment, then responds. “I think that it certainly presents an opportunity that had not presented itself before. If the people of the Riverlands and the Lords of the Marches, see that Stark is willingly allowing the Lannisters to influence proceedings then I think they might well begin looking elsewhere.” He pauses and then asks. “What word do you have from across the sea?”

Oberyn takes a moment to gather his thoughts, when he does so, his words are clear and concise. “The King enjoyed the fight in Braavos, he felt that it gave him a chance to test what he had learned. Prince Viserys also enjoyed the fight. The Company rallied behind them and now respects their decisions and their calls. I think that they are preparing for another opening. An opening we might need to make.”

Doran nods, he has never met his nephew, the boy was a babe when the sack happened, but he did meet his niece once, when she was very young. Oberyn has met them both, many times, and so he considers what his brother says. Eventually he asks. “What sort of opening do you suggest?”

Oberyn has always been someone who would prefer to go with the physically approach, the war approach, therefore Doran is surprised when he says. “Why not merely play up on the obvious tensions that are there. We have agents at court, why not use them to whisper into the ears of different people? The Baratheon brothers are not close; they are always at one another’s throats. It would not be too hard to simply make them see one another as enemies even more so than they do now.”

“And what of Stark?” Doran asks.

“Stark will be harder. He will blindly follow the usurper’s son out of some misguided sense of loyalty. We must make him see where his true loyalties lie. We must remind him of everything his father stood for and what his brother stood for as well.” Oberyn replies.

Doran hesitates then. “And how do we do that without revealing our hand?” he has an idea, but it is not one he truly wants to consider.

As he suspects, Oberyn has reached the same conclusion as him. “We propose a marriage. Or a betrothal. Between his daughter and either Quentyn or Trystane. The girl is said to be exactly like his sister. She will thrive in Dorne. And unlike his father, Stark is not immune to ensuring the happiness of his children.”

Doran looks at his brother and says. “And you wish for me to use the girl to force his hand when the time comes.”

Oberyn sighs. “I want you to do what you know needs to be done brother. You are the Prince of Dorne. You are our leader. The people, they whisper, they whisper about how you sat aside whilst Elia and her children were held hostage. How you sat aside when they were murdered and their killers were rewarded with honours beyond count. I know the difference. But no one else does. The whole of Dorne looks at you and they see a pale shadow. They do not see mother, or father. They just see a shadow. Be the Prince you are, the Prince who knows what needs to be done.”

“And if Dorne bleeds? What then? I will be blamed for it.” Doran replies, the old grievance coming to light in his words, the old fears, his mother’s words.

“Then it bleeds. But at least then you would have fought for it.” Oberyn states.

Doran looks at his brother, and in his brother’s eyes he sees something he has not seen there for a long time, hope. It is that, that makes him say. “Very well. Send the letter.”

* * *

 

**“Perhaps now we shall have the revenge we have long hungered for.”**


	26. Friends

****

**“I’m not sure what it is about him, but I find myself preferring to spend my time in Tommen’s company rather than that of my family’s. I think it’s because around him I can be who I really am. I don’t need to hide behind some sense of solemnity that father always has, or be something that mother wants me to be. I can be who I am, and that, that is refreshing. I really like him as well. I think he’s funny, and kind.”**

* * *

 

**Brandon Stark**

“Where are we going now?” Bran asks, looking around in some confusion at the changing hallways and the shifting walls.

“Somewhere we can talk in private.” Tommen replies over his shoulder. His friend has longer legs than Bran does and so can walk much quicker.

Eventually the stop walking and Bran asks. “Where are we?” he looks around the room, finding no hint of paintings or tapestries on the walls or the floor, something that is quite unusual for the Red Keep.

Tommen looks at him and smiles, that smile that can make his heart speed up. “We’re in the Private Halls.”

That peaks his interest. “The Private Halls? What are they?” it should be obvious, but half the fun of this is allowing Tommen to explain.

“They’re the halls where the Kings and Princes used to go back in the days of the Targaryen Kings, to unwind after a long day of court. Father showed me this place once. Joffrey doesn’t know.” Tommen replies excitedly.

Bran smiles, Tommen looks quite…he doesn’t know the right word to use, he looks radiant when he’s like this. “I see. And what are doing here?” he asks. He doesn’t mind coming here alone with Tommen, but he’d like to know why they’re here.

Tommen shifts around slightly, is he nervous? “I thought we could come here and talk. I know you got a letter from Winterfell. You’ve seemed oddly down since it came.”

At this Bran feels his heart sink. The letter had come from Winterfell, Robb had written it, and it had led to both his parents gushing over how proud they were of their firstborn son. They’d ignored everything he’d done here, but the minute Robb did something, they praised him. It is this that makes him say. “I just don’t get it. I mean Robb’s the heir; he’s been raised his entire life to rule. I don’t understand why my parents would suddenly start gushing the way they did, just because he’s actually shown he can.”

“Perhaps because he’s still young. I know that my parents would never trust Joffrey to rule on his own now. And the north is a dangerous place.” Tommen points out.

Bran grunts in response. “Still, it just feels as if they are valuing everything he does because he’s Robb. I’ve done more things here than he’s ever done. I’ve learned more about the outside world than Robb knows, I know how to fight, I know how to ride. And yet that never seems to draw anything from them. All I ever get is told to be careful, and yet the moment Robb ever does something he is praised to the heavens. It’s not fair.”

His friend sits down, and Bran sits down next to him. Tommen looks thoughtful, his lips are pressed together, and his brow is quirked in such a way that makes Bran’s heart flutter. “I think that they might be acting that way because Robb is their firstborn, and because they are pleased he is living up to their expectations. I think they want to know they’re doing a good job.”

Bran looks at his friend, hardly feeling reassured. “So are you telling me that they care more about ensuring that their attempts at parents is going right, rather than actually trying to be parents and respecting their whole family?”

Tommen looks shocked. “I…I… that’s not what I meant to say.”

Tommen blushes then, and Bran feels himself starting to blush, gods, what is wrong with him? “Well what did you mean?” he asks.

“I think they just want to make sure that Robb is okay. He is their firstborn son; they will always love him and worry about him. Even if he has been taught to rule, they want to make sure he is safe.” Tommen stammers out. Then his friend does something unexpected, he takes his hand and links their fingers together. “That doesn’t mean they care any less about you Bran.”

Bran looks at their linked fingers, his heart hammering in his chest. “I…I… I don’t know if that is true. They’ve barely spoken to me, this entire time we’ve been here. They spend most of their time with one another or with Sansa and Arya. They just ignore me.” He hates how childish he sounds, but Tommen’s here, Tommen hasn’t left, not like Robb or Jon would’ve by now, Tommen’s listening.

Softly his friend asks. “Have you told them this?”

Bran laughs, the sound bitter. “Talk to my parents about how I feel? I don’t think so. My father never talks about how he feels. The only one of his sons he talks to his Robb, and maybe Jon as well. He doesn’t talk to me; he barely speaks to Sansa. He prefers Arya. I don’t know why he even thought having more children would be a good idea.”

“What about your mother?” Tommen asks.

Bran looks at his friend, and he hates how weak and petty his voice sounds then. “I can’t talk to her about this. She’s got more than enough to worry about. Rickon’s so young. And Arya and Sansa have always been her priority. I kind of just get on with things.”

His friend nods, and in that moment, Bran feels his heart do that odd flip thing it’s been doing as of late whenever he thinks of Tommen. He’s not sure what it is, or if it’s even normal. “Well, you’ve got me to talk to.” His friend replies. “Don’t ever forget that. You’ve got me.”

Bran smiles, his voice very soft as he replies. “I know. Thank you.”

* * *

 

**“Bran seems distant. I don’t know what it is and I am worried.”**


	27. Reckoning

**“The clock strikes twelve. Can you hear the ticking of the clock? Can you feel the air fill with anticipation? Can you hear the children singing? The clock strikes one. The world begins to tremble as the children begin to grow. Can you hear them crying? Can you hear them calling your name? The clock strikes two. The world begins to burn. The children are adults now, men and women, no longer hurt by the wounds of childhood. Can you see the anger in their eyes? Can you feel the rush of wind? Can you hear the call of time? The clock strikes twelve.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

There was a knock on the door. A voice. Ned startles awake, his dreams had been burning a hole in his mind for too long. He looks around, the knock sounds again. “Lord Stark.” The voice sounds familiar. “Lord Stark, may I come in?” he recognises the voice. Harwin.

“Yes come in.” Ned replies. Catelyn stirs beside him; she looks at him questioningly and he whispers. “Harwin.” She nods and then rests against the pillows. Harwin enters looking dishevelled. “What is it?” he asks.

Harwin looks a bit stunned, as if he does not know what to say. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, then he says. “His Grace, the King is dead, my lord. The Queen has asked for your presence.”

Catelyn takes his hand then, and he feels the words hit him. “The King is dead?” he asks. “Do you know how?”

Harwin shakes his head. “No Sire. But the Queen has asked for your presence. She says it is urgent.”

Ned nods, and asks. “Where?”

“Her solar my lord.” Harwin replies. “There are two Kingsguard waiting outside to accompany you.”

Ned looks at Catelyn, and sees his own worry reflected on her face, why would they be there? Then he nods and says. “Very well, let me get changed.” Harwin bows and walks out of the room. Ned leans over, kisses Catelyn on the lips then whispers. “I will be back soon, my love.” She nods.

Soon enough he is dressed and is walking down the Tower of the Hand accompanied by Harwin and by Jory as well as Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard. Robert’s death still has not sunk in, his friend could not be dead, he was so alive and vibrant when Ned had seen him that evening for their weekly meeting. Perhaps it was a mistake? They arrive at the Queen’s solar, and he finds the Queen, her brothers Tyrion and the Kingslayer, and Renly present as well as Pycelle, and the looks on their faces tell him that no, this is no mistake. The Queen confirms is when she says. “You have heard the news then Lord Stark?”

Feeling numb, Ned nods. “Yes.” A pause, the feeling that the world has been ripped from his feet hits him. Firs father and Brandon, then Lya, now Robert, are the Gods punishing him? Softly he asks. “How did he die?”

Pycelle is the one who speaks. “It appears his heart just gave way my lord.”

Ned nods. “He had stopped drinking and eating so much, could that have had something to do with it?”

“It is very possible.” Pycelle admits. Ned gets the feeling that the man does not really know.

Still this is not the time for that. He looks at the Queen and asks. “You wished for me to come here. I see that the royal family is here, but what of Lord Stannis, where is he?”

It is Renly who answers him then. “It is better if Stannis does not know we are meeting.”

Ned looks at Robert’s youngest brother and though he wants to ask him why, he gets the feeling he is about to find out why anyway, and so instead he asks. “So what do we do now? How long will it take to see Prince Joffrey crowned?”

The Queen speaks. “First we must discuss the will my husband left behind.” And with that she pulls out a document and hands it to him.

Ned looks at the document and sees his friend’s seal, he breaks the seal and reads. When he is done reading he says. “Robert named me Lord Protector until Prince Joffrey comes of age.” That surprises him, the Prince is only a year younger than Robb, surely he does not need a Lord Protector, then he thinks about what he knows about the Prince, and he realises the boy does.

The Queen nods. “Indeed he did. Robert had many faults, but his judgement was not one of them. He named you Hand, and you made sure that Baelish and his corruption were ended. He has named you Lord Protector. I am willing to work with you my lord, on one condition.”

Warily, Ned asks. “And what condition is that?”

“Name my brother Hand of the King. You two can work together on the realm.” The Queen replies.

Ned is surprised that she does not want her father as Hand, he would’ve thought that would’ve been the first choice she went for. He looks at the Queen and then says. “Lord Tyrion. Do you agree?”

The man nods. “I do.”

“Then I accept this,” Ned responds.

The Queen smiles. “Very well. Now as to Lord Stannis, I have a feeling we shall need to deal with him.”

“What do you mean?” Ned asks, he cannot picture Stannis as someone who would betray the oath he swore to his brother, the King.

Pycelle speaks then. “Letters have been found on some of his attendants, and they suggest he has treasonous intent.”

“Do you have these letters?” Ned asks, wanting proof for his own eyes.

Pycelle hands him the letters, and he reads through them as quickly as he can, the minute he is done, he puts them down and whispers. “Treason. Stannis Baratheon wants to commit treason.”

* * *

 

**“The clock strikes twelve, and the demons come out to play. Hush now child, and remember the stories I have told you. The fear, the greed, the pain, they want it all. We are all puppets dancing to the Stranger’s tune. The clock strikes twelve.”**


	28. New King

**“The realm continues to turn. A King lies dead, moving toward a home he had not been to for many years, and the realm keeps moving. People mourn, but they also get on with their lives. Robert Baratheon was a great many things to a great many people. But at the end of the day, he was another person, and he is dead. There is a successor for him on the throne, and so people keep moving. Those he left behind, those who knew him, they are the ones who struggle. For the struggle is what makes them feel alive.”**

* * *

 

**Joffrey Baratheon**

Father’s body lies in state in the Great Sept of Baelor. It lies in state before him. Joffrey is dressed in black, he knows that soon enough he will be crowned in this very sept. He also knows that Father will be buried in Storm’s End, per his request. He feels nothing. Not grief, not anger, nothing. He feels empty. Lord Stark stands next to him, he looks at the man, and asks. “Tell me my lord, how goes preparation for my coronation?”

Stark looks quite surprised by this question, but he replies all the same. “Preparation is moving smoothly Your Grace. The High Septon has agreed to the number of things to be said, per your request. He has also agreed to which hymns will be sung during the ceremony. The cooks are preparing the feast for afterwards as well. Everything is going smoothly.”

Joffrey nods, but there is one thing he really wants to know. “And the crown? How is my crown progressing?” that is important to him. He needs to have his own crown. He will not wear the same thing his father wore. He will not, he refuses to.

Stark looks taken aback, as if he had thought the conversation would go elsewhere. Still he nods. “It goes well, I am told it will be ready tonight.”

“Good.” Joffrey replies, his eyes looking at Stark, seeing the lines of age and the grey hairs, that tell the age of the man at his side. “I will go and collect it myself.”

Stark seems concerned by this. “Is that wise Sire? Tobho Mott’s is quite a distance, is it wise to go there yourself?”

“I will not be going there myself, my lord.” Joffrey replies impatiently. “I will be going with the Kingsguard.”

Stark seems to be hesitating on this, but eventually he nods. “Very well Sire.”

Joffrey looks away from Stark, and back at the body set out before them. His father, the man leaves a shadow that Joffrey is not quite sure he can fill. The man was a giant, and now he’s dead. Gone. Joffrey takes a breath, keeping his eyes on his father he says. “About the betrothal between myself and Lady Sansa. I want to know if you want to go ahead.”

“My King?” Stark asks sounding unsure.

Joffrey sighs, is Stark really that slow, or is he merely sounding unsure because he did not think this would be brought up. “I know my father all but forced the betrothal on you. What I want you know is whether you want it to remain.”

Stark is silent for a long time, and in that time Joffrey has more time to look around the Great Sept, he has never been here. Only on special occasions, and it truly is a grand place. Still he wonders if he could ask for a more private ceremony, or if he would need to do something else. Eventually Stark says. “I will need to think a bit more on this Sire. I hope that is okay?”

Joffrey nods. “Of course. I am not my father; I will not force you into something you do not want.” He knows that he should probably ask what Sansa wants, but right now, her father is here, and he is the man that Joffrey needs to have this conversation with.

There is another long silence, then Stark speaks, his voice hesitant. “There is one thing I wish to talk to you about Sire.”

Joffrey keeps his eyes on the body of his father. “And what is that?”

“Your uncle Stannis.” Stark replies.

“What of him?” Joffrey asks hesitantly. He is not sure how to feel about his uncle, the man had been nothing to Joffrey, just a man who shared his last name and his blood. Then to find out the man is committing treason, well that was something.

“I questioned him today, he wants to speak with you. He says what he has to say is something that you will want to know. He seemed quite insistent.” Stark replies.

Joffrey keeps his eyes fixed on his father’s corpse. “Isn’t that what they all say? That they have something that I will find very interesting, hoping that that will lead to their salvation. My uncle was found with treasonous content on his person. What is there to say that this is not more lies?”

Very softly, Stark replies. “I have never known your uncle to be one to lie Sire. He is many things, but a liar he is not.”

Joffrey turns then, glances briefly at Stark, before looking at the wider Sept. “My uncle is a man who no one really knows anything about. He has created an image of himself, just like Renly has. He sees himself as this man who is honest to a fault, someone who would never break the law. And yet he was found with documents that did break the law. That were all in total treason. Tell me, why should I listen to a word a traitor has to say?”

Joffrey keeps his eyes fixed on a painting of the stranger, as he hears Stark hum and ah about this, eventually the man speaks. “I think you should listen to him, so that there is no regret in you should something new come out later. Then at least you can say you listened.”

Joffrey thinks on this a moment, then says. “Very well, I shall meet with him. But only this once. And no one else can know.” He sees Stark nod, and they walk from the Great Sept.

* * *

 

**“Chaos is a ladder. Climb one step, and fall several. You must dash before the ladder falls.”**

 


	29. Sounds of the Drums

**“For so long we have waited. For so long we have danced. For so long we have hesitated. No longer. From now on we shall make the first move. We shall make it all happen. The things we were promised. The things we have seen. We shall make it all come true. And when we do, the world will know how our power has grown. For we are made of fire and stone.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

“The usurper is dead, and has been for nearly a week and yet we sit here doing nothing.” Aegon says, trying hard not to let his frustration get the better of him. “a boy sits where once a man sat. We should be preparing for war, not sat here, not doing anything.”

“Your Grace, the transition of power seems to have happened more smoothly than anyone could have thought. The temptations we have dangled have not been taken.” Connington replies.

“And whose fault is that?” Viserys asks, his voice filled with sharpness. “It was your duty to instruct our men at court to make the temptations, well tempting. If they are not tempting, then surely that is your cross to bear?”

Connington bristles. “I have done everything I can to ensure that they are received well. Perhaps we need more financial rewards for them?”

Aegon runs a hand through his hair. “Rhaenys how much coin do we have left?”

His sister ever the good counter and hoarder looks at her figures before replying. “We’ve got around one million dragons left. We can spare a few of those I would say. But then if we were to offer payments, we would need to deliver massively once you are on the throne. Though now that Braavos is under the throne’s yolk, there is not the debt to worry about.”

“I would recommend sending a few chests to allies who might need a bit of convincing Sire.” Connington says. “I think those within Westeros who are hovering right now, and those in the Free Cities who have more reason to see you on the throne than a Baratheon. It would do no harm.”

“It would make you seem as if you are buying their loyalty. And it would undermine you.” Viserys points out.

Aegon knows what his uncle is doing, the man is trying to play on his desire to be different, his feeling that he needs to separate himself from his father, and grandfather. He hesitates for a second then, looking at Connington he asks. “Who would you recommend sending a chest to in Westeros?”

Connington considers the question for a moment then replies. “I would say that the Tarlys would be the major house in the Reach, Randyll Tarly is one of the finest generals Westeros has ever seen. Pay him some money and he will be your man, he needs that money. I would also advise that some money be sent to the houses of the crownlands. They will be needed when the time comes.”

“Sending money to houses that traditionally always held true to the dragon would reek of an insult.” Viserys points out.

Aegon stares at his uncle. “They bent the knee to the usurper uncle. And they have not once dared to rise in defiance of him. I think a little gold could go a long way to ensuring that they are sorted out.” He looks at his sister then and says. “Send the money off, the previously agreed amounts. I want to make sure we have this all sorted.” His sister nods. Aegon then turns his attention to other matters. “Now, the company have been paid, are they ready to go on another excursion?”

Connington looks desperately worried then. “Where do you plan on doing Sire?”

“Until there is more chaos in Westeros, I feel the war in the Disputed Lands would serve very well as a chance for me to get to know the men who will be fighting alongside me a little better. Besides, when we return to Westeros, they will want their former lands. I will need to know what else they want.” Aegon states.

As expected Connington looks as if he might panic. “And what if something goes wrong there?”

Aegon sighs. “Then something goes wrong. I am old enough now to be able to fight for myself Jon. I do not need you to constantly worry.”

Connington looks as if he might protest, but instead he merely sighs and asks. “When would you be leaving for the Disputed Lands?”

Aegon considers this for a moment, briefly looking at Viserys for confirmation, then, once he has gotten that he says. “I would say within a week or so. We cannot delay for much longer. I know the company; they are getting restless.”

Connington does not seem happy about this, but thankfully he merely nods his acceptance, and changes the topic to something else. “Word has come from Dorne. It appears they are considering trying to turn Stark to our side.”

Aegon leans in then interested. “And how do they propose to do that? The man has his eldest daughter betrothed to the usurper’s successor.”

“Stark has a second daughter. The girl it seems is more wild than anyone else. It is the belief of the Martells that the girl would do well in Dorne. Furthermore, it seems that Stark prefers this girl over his older daughter. They are hoping they can use this to their advantage to convince Stark to abandon the Baratheons and to side with us.” Connington replies.

Aegon snorts. “Wishful thinking there I think. But let them try it. If Stark accepts the betrothal request perhaps we shall have more opportunities. If he does not, then we shall have to find another way to tempt him into our side.”

The how of that is something they leave in the air, right now though, there is one other pressing matter Aegon means to talk about. “I want word sent to Sunspear, tell my uncle that Arianne is to come to Pentos once the fighting in the Disputed Lands is done.” He looks at his uncle and says. “Her marriage is fast approaching.”

* * *

 

**“The ladder shifts, the Prince has fire.”**


	30. To Be Or Not To Be

****

**“Marriage. Marriage was something my father tried to use to increase his influence in the south. I did not understand it then. We were the only power in the north, I did not understand why he felt the need to expand southwards. Now I do. There is nothing left for us to achieve in the north, but the south, we must change how we are seen here if we are to achieve anything. And so marriage becomes a tool once more. Oh how I dread the day that it all comes to fruition.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

Another long day at court, another long day meeting with people. The King was far better than Robert had been, he actually attended court sessions and council meetings. The King seemed to care, whether that was an act or not, Ned did not know. But right now, it eased his own burden. Still, as he looks at his wife, he cannot but help feeling as if this is all a game, a game he is struggling at. He looks at his wife and says. “You know the King has asked me to consider whether or not I want Sansa to still marry him.”

Catelyn seems surprised by this, he is as well, he had thought the King would simply go about the betrothal, because it was what his father had ordered, evidently not. “Oh? Do you know what might have prompted this?”

Ned shakes his head. “I do not. Though from everything I have seen of him these past few weeks, it seems as though he is not his father. He prefers to give options rather than simply go along with everything that has been handed to him. Perhaps this one of those times.”

“Do you think Sansa might have done something to displease him?” Catelyn asks.

Ned shakes his head. “No. Sansa and the King seem to get along just fine. I am not sure what it could be. Perhaps he feels as though this betrothal was forced on him and on us, and he merely wants to give us a choice.”

His wife nods. “And what will you do? I know you did not quite like how the King had acted as Crown Prince, but he does seem to have changed. He is more personable now than he was before. He would make Sansa very happy.”

Ned nods, he knows this, he has seen the two of them together, and they do seem to be a good couple. He remembers Lya, and her unhappiness around Robert, and he sighs. “I know Cat. It’s just I don’t know whether I feel comfortable about all of this. Sansa is still very young; she has not even flowered yet. But at the same time, perhaps keeping her here and allowing her the chance to grow would be beneficial.”

“You will not find a better match for her than the King, Ned. And do not forget that Sansa is happy here.” Catelyn replies.

Ned thinks over this for a moment and then says. “I know. I think I will need to keep this betrothal there. Besides, if the King himself wishes to end it, then he will do so.” He does not think the King will, but he cannot be sure. The Lannisters have been oddly friendly toward him as of late, perhaps that is because he agreed to imprison Stannis. He takes a sip of water and then says. “There has been a letter from Sunspear. It seems Prince Doran wishes for relations between our two houses to be repaired.” Silence for fifteen years after the rebellion, after Lyanna disappeared and appeared in Dorne, after Elia Martell’s humiliation.

He cannot blame Cat for her cautious reply of. “And how did he wish to do that?”

Ned takes a breath. “He wants to arrange a marriage between one of his sons and Arya. He believes it will go a long way to healing the divide that opened up when the rebellion began.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Catelyn asks, Ned can hear the nervousness in her voice.

He takes a moment to think. He knows Arya’s lessons with Syrio have been going well, he also knows that things are different in Dorne, she could do well there. But at the same time, there are those in Dorne who would more than likely want her dead, for her name, for what Lya did, or did not do. He hesitates, then eventually says. “I think he is right.”

His wife’s response is slow. “I see.”

“You disagree?” he asks.

“I think that I can see where you are both coming from. But at the same time, the Martells have never gotten over Princess Elia’s death, nor has the rest of Dorne. How will they react when they see that their Prince will marry one of his sons to Arya? She acts like Lyanna, and she supposedly looks like her as well. That will hurt her, and them.” Catelyn replies truthfully.

“I know. But I think that if we were to ask for a betrothal between Arya and Prince Doran’s second son Trystane, that could do wonders for them both. Furthermore, Prince Trystane could come to serve here at court for a period of time. We could find a way for this to work Cat. I know we could.” Ned replies.

His wife seems uncertain about it. “I do not know. What has the King said about this?”

“The King thinks it is a good idea. He is more determined to repair relations than Robert was. Perhaps we can make this work.” Ned says.

His wife takes a moment to think about this and then she says. “Very well. I agree, but so long as the boy comes here first.”

Ned nods. “I am sure Prince Doran will accept that request.” He hopes the man will, if not, they might well make things worse.

* * *

 

**“Lya was always a firebrand, she never wanted to conform. I can see the same thing in Arya. And I fear this will lead to her death.”**


	31. Asgaroth

**“Time ticks by slowly, so very slowly. I have waited since dawn of time. Now my chance is coming. Heaven sent, I am slowly creeping up on you. The children of my father. I will end you. Prepare for the destruction that I will bring to you all. The time of you all is at an end. My time has come. And I am here, alive and well. In the hearts of you all.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

Wyman Manderly was perhaps the fattest man Renly had ever seen. He had lumps and rolls of skin and they had rolls of skin. It was like a never ending roll of fat. Renly was impressed the man was still alive. And judging by how much he ate, that was quite an achievement. The man was talking and Renly decided he would listen. “Since I have become Master of Coin, I have noticed that Lord Baelish loved to forge accounts. He would have one book he would bring to the council that spoke of the debt, and another book that held the true accounts, the second book he kept to himself. It has taken a lot of time and effort but I have finally managed to find this second book and have real look through it.” Renly sat up straighter in his chair, this was interesting.

“And what have you found?” Lord Stark asks.

Renly sits straighter, and listens intently. “I have found that when Lord Baelish was arrested, the crown was operating at a profit of eighty thousand dragons. We were not as seriously in debt as was first thought. The debt to the Lannisters had actually been paid off long ago, whilst the debt to the Iron Bank was being fed more and more. Since this realisation and since the seizure of the man’s assets as well as the capture and vassalage of Braavos the crown has become three hundred thousand dragons into the gold. We are doing well for now.”

“How long do you expect that to last?” Renly asks, he knows a thing or two about money having been raised by a man who was always tight with it.

Lord Wyman seems to be considering him for a long moment, his voice is contemplative when he speaks. “With the blessings of this council I have implemented a series of reforms that are aimed at reducing corruption within the royal treasury. This will be done through employing those who know their figures, and those who have not served under Baelish. A strict programme will be taught to these people, and as such, I will also ensure that the counters and tax collectors know their rights and the ways to tell if someone is trying to short straw them.”

“And how will you make sure they do not take money off the top? That was a common problem under Baelish.” Renly asks.

Here Manderly seems as though he is stuck, but then the man smiles. “Well, that is where their good sense comes in. If they wish to take money off the top, then they can try. But there will always be someone there watching and waiting. The minute someone does that, they will be found out and tried.”

“So you are ensuring that they live in fear?” Renly asks. “Impressive.”

Manderly nods, and though Stark looks disconcerted by this he merely says. “So long as the money continues to flow into His Majesty’s treasury that should not be an issue.” A pause, then the man looks at him. “And what of you Lord Renly, what can you tell us about your side of the council?”

Renly smiles. “I thought you would never ask.” He takes a minute pause then continues. “Baelish’s downfall and execution has not brought the chaos we thought it would. I have had the City Watch find and arrest anyone who was associated with the man. They have been questioned and if they provided suitable information they have been let go. Whilst those who have not, have as per the King’s request been executed for treason. The City Watch is in far better state today than it was when Baelish was alive. There are far fewer divisions within it. Janos Slynt’s head sits comfortably atop a pike on the gates of the city, and Ser Jacelyn Bywater assures me that he is doing his best to ensure that the new recruits are suitably trained.” Bywater was a good man, firm and just, he was also bendable about some things, some of the things Renly had learned would not have come from a man like Slynt.

Stark nods seemingly satisfied, and for the first time, Renly wonders where his nephew is. Unlike Robert, the boy has done a good job of attending every council meeting he can, today seems to be the exception. “What has Stannis been saying?” Stark asks then, drawing Renly out of his musings.

Renly takes a moment to consider the question, then replies. “Little and less. He continues to insist that the King speak to him, nothing more.”

Stark sighs. “The King did speak to him, and nothing he said warranted his freedom. What do you suggest be done with him?”

“If he were any other lord, I would recommend he be executed.” Renly says. “The letters he was found with were treasonous. But, he is a member of the Royal Family and the King’s uncle, this needs to be dealt with carefully, otherwise the prestige of the Royal Family will be dampened.”

Stark nods, and then asks. “Would the Wall make sense then?”

Renly thinks over it and says. “I think that it would. He is a good man to have when it comes to order. Something the Watch needs. I think that would be best.”

Stark nods. “I shall speak to the King about it.”

Renly smiles. “Best be quick about it I would think, the longer you keep him in the cells the more people will talk.” He knows as he has already heard things. Things that worry him and concern him deeply, but things he cannot act on right now.

* * *

 

**“I sit here rotting in a cell, when I should be out there. This outrage will not be tolerated. I will have my freedom. We shall have our freedom.”**


	32. Meetings Upon Meetings

**“I can smell the rats and the snakes. They have a very putrid odour. But that does not matter. They are serving their purpose. Moving about, clinking around. Leading the fools in one direction and then another. The time is coming. Very soon I shall emerge, and when I do, the world shall know my name. The clock strikes twelve.”**

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The hour was late, but there was much still needed to be done. Eddard Stark knew his wife was asleep in their room, and he wanted to join her, but there was far too much to be done. The job of Lord Protector was a more tiresome one than the job of being Hand. King Joffrey was far more involved than Robert had been, he supposed that was a good thing, but it made things very hard. Still, he had asked Lord Wyman for a meeting and so he would pay attention to the man. “How are you finding King’s Landing?” he asks.

Lord Wyman was an old man, it seemed he had been old even when Ned’s father was lord of Winterfell. He replies calmly and courteously. “It is good. It is very different to White Harbour. There are more people, more hustle and bustle. I like it.”

Ned smiles, he has always known that Wyman was a man of politics and intrigue, King’s Landing must really be up his alley. He takes a moment to consider this and then he asks. “And how are you finding being Master of Coin? I know that there is quite a heavy burden considering the mess Littlefinger left for you. But so far it seems you have done a very good job.”

Lord Wyman smiles. “Thank you for that my lord. I admit there are times when I find it challenging, but mostly it has been rewarding. Baelish might have done things that beggar belief, but his methods were very simple when one looks at it in detail.”

Ned is sure he is going to regret asking this question, but he does so anyway. “How so?” he had looked at Littlefinger’s books and barely understood some of the words that were there, but Wyman always had a knack for numbers, perhaps that was why he understood it where Ned had not.

“Well, to put it simply. Baelish knew that very few people would question him. He devised a system of letters and numbers to use to hide his illegal dealings. And if anyone did per chance ask him, he would count on the system to confuse them, and allow him to lie his way through it. Of course, when his attendants began deserting him, he was finished. But decoding the rest of the work has taken some time.” Wyman responds.

Ned quirks an eyebrow. “And why is that? I had thought it was a relatively simple matter of ensuring that everything was in check. Baelish is dead now, but his helpers are not.”

“I know my lord. But the thing is, I was looking around his home in Maegor’s Holdfast, and I found small notes to other things. And so I explored those notes, and I found several books in his former manor houses.” Lord Wyman states, and Ned gets the feeling he is not going to like what comes next. “These books contained things of a most troubling notion.”

Ned sighs internally, he knew he was going to regret asking this question. “And what was in these books that was seen as being so very troubling?”

“Well as you already know, Baelish had a lot of contacts in Braavos and the Iron Bank. He had as you already know negotiated the rate at which the loans were charged at, and ensured that repayment could only come from bankrupting the realm. But he also had another agreement with them. In this agreement, in the event of an invasion of Braavos, which he was going to suggest, he would obtain the key to the Vault of the Titan.” Lord Wyman replies.

Unsure of the significance of this Ned asks. “What is the Vault of the Titan my lord?”

If Wyman is surprised that he does not know what the thing is, he does not show it. Instead his voice is very soft as he replies. “It is a vault that contains information on all the investors into the Iron Bank, every deal both legal and illegal the bank has ever made. And it also contains the information of every Westerosi lord that has money stored in the Bank.”

Ned feels his pulse quicken then. Almost every Westerosi lord has money stored in that damned bank, that was half the reason they invaded the city. But not Vault had been discovered, no key had been handed over. Hesitantly he asks. “Was a key found?”

He feels his heart sink when Wyman shakes his head. “No my lord. Baelish was arrested before he could get the key. No one knows just what shape the key takes. I do not think the vault is a traditional vault.”

“What do you mean?” Ned asks. “Where else could they store all of this information?”

“Within various places. Manses, houses, castles, shops. All places that were attacked when the invasion happened. If the Braavosi were smart they would have moved them when the attack was happening. If not…” Wyman says.

“If not then we have lost a lot of information, and the crown might have far more trouble than it can handle.” Ned finishes for him. He dreads to think what this could mean for them all. He dreads to think of what money could be swindled now more so than ever. He looks at Wyman and says. “You know you will need to go to Braavos. We cannot allow this situation to go unlooked at.”

“What will you tell the King?” Wyman asks.

Ned thinks for a moment then says. “I will tell him that you are going to inspect the investment in the city. It will not be a lie as such. But he cannot know the truth right now.” He thinks of the thorn in Stannis and adds. “There is too much he needs to deal with here.”

**“Slowly you move. Slowly you talk. The prayers of the damned come. The clock strikes twelve.”**


	33. Dancing The Crooked Dance

**“Flesh crawls along the human bone. A curious thing that. It moves very slowly, but does not finish itself immediately. It is a fascinating thing, and something I have long wanted to explore. Yet I am not sure that I can completely ever know it. For I am it as well. As long as I inhabit this body, I am nothing more than a husk of my true self. Perhaps absolution will come in time. For now though I must suffer through the pain.”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

The room was dark. Just the way he liked it. He could smell the tainted husks of previous inhabitants, they tasted like sour grapes and in one case ash. The room was large and long. Filled to the brim with things both great and small. A movement here, a movement there, drew a creak from the great beast that was the room. A whisper could sound like a roar. It was brilliant. It was home. Joffrey looks at the bed, there is a woman on the bed, one of the whores from Baelish’s brothel, he smiles then and says. “You know, I never liked Baelish. I always thought he was a bit odd. With his twittering and tittering. He always smelt of mint.” He takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the woman on the bed. “And so do you.”

The woman squirms as he smells more of her. Inhaling her sweet scent, the taste of mint and cloves on her skin. Oh, she is a fine specimen, very fine indeed. “I wonder, did he fuck any of his whores? Or was he incapable of that?” the woman squirms against the chains tying her to the bed. Giving answer to his question. “Oh so he did fuck you, did he?” he looks at the woman, sees her auburn hair and her green eyes and laughs. “I’m not surprised. You probably reminded him of Lady Catelyn.”

The woman squirms some more, fighting to get out of the chains Joffrey had placed her in. He laughs. He looks around the room. He had found this place one day whilst wandering around the Red Keep. Just like then, the Hound stands guard outside, but so too does Ser Barristan, the man most likely disapproves of this, but at the same time, this is one of Baelish’s whores. She’s likely a traitor, all of those whores are. He looks back at her and sees her trying to squirm free. He places one of his hands atop hers and whispers. “Now, now. Enough of that. You cannot get free from here without me allowing you to. And right now, I’m not in the mood to allow you to go.” The woman looks at him with fear in her eyes. The gag in her mouth is soaking wet, he wonders whether he could make her wet down there, in her lady parts. He sits down next to her and sighs. “You know, it’s odd, I came here trying to get more information from you, yet I’ve not even asked you your name.” he removes the gag, and allows the whore to sputter and spit a little. Then he asks. “What is your name?”

“Caitlin.” The woman replies, her voice sounds so small compared to how he imagines she likely would’ve spoke in the brothel.

Joffrey nods, he takes one of the curls of her hair and toys with it a little. His voice is soft when he asks. “And how did you come to be in Baelish’s service?”

The woman looks at him with small scared eyes. Her voice is just as soft as his when she replies. “I was sold to him. My mother and father defaulted on a payment to one of his men, so I was sold to him to pay off their debt.”

The woman sounds as if she is both resentful of that, but also relieved. He nods. “I see. And have you seen your parents since?”

The woman shakes her head. “No. They died before I got enough money to ever get out of the brothel to see them.”

Joffrey nods, he can see the pain she feels as that memory writ clear across her face. He supposes this is why he feels a moment of regret for what he is going to do. “You understand that I cannot allow you to survive, do you not?”

“Why? I do not know anything! Baelish never told me anything!” Caitlin replies. “Your Grace, I swear I know nothing. I will move away from here if you want me to!”

Joffrey sighs, he hates it when they do that. Why do they always beg? “You know that is not a feasible option.” He runs a finger over her cheeks, sighing as he does so. “You look too much like her for people not comment. Baelish’s infatuation was well known. I will not have anyone trying to cast aspersions because of his bullshit. You must go, and this is the only way.”

“Please Your Grace, have mercy.” The woman whimpers as he grabs a dagger from the table.

He stares at her, his eyes cold, his expression cold. “This is mercy. You will not be killed by some other whore. Or by someone else. The King is killing you. Take mercy in that.” He presses the dagger against her chest, measuring the depth and the need for swing. Then he removes the dagger, the woman’s chest is heaving, he counts to three, then he plunges the dagger in. The woman screams, he plunges the dagger in again, she screams louder. He plunges the dagger in again and the woman screams even louder, until she doesn’t anymore. He watches as she slumps down, her head lolling onto her shoulders. He looks at her then calls out. “Sandor come here please.” The Hound comes in, he doesn’t look the remotely bit concerned. “Take her out of here and dump her in the sea.” The man nods, he cuts the ties holding her and carries her out. Joffrey watches him leave, then he calls out. “Ser Barristan.” The aged Lord Commander comes before him. “You know why I had to do that?”

“I do Sire.” The knight replies, though Joffrey knows that the knight does not forgive.

* * *

 

**“The screams echo in my head. And I can smell the fire.”**


	34. Surprise

**“Lysa was always a dreamer, she never really took her head from the clouds. Perhaps that was because she never wanted to admit that life moved on without her. Perhaps it was because Father never spent enough time with her. I do not know. All I know now is that Father is ailing, and Lysa sits in the Eyrie, aloof from the world. Perhaps there was some truth to the rumours. I hope not, for her sake, and for everyone’s.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

“Lysa continues to ignore the letters I send her. Uncle Brynden wrote to me and said she had burned the last one. Something about not wanting to speak to a traitor.” Catelyn says gloomily. “I did not think she truly cared for Baelish. I thought it was merely a childhood crush.”

Her husband looks at her surprised. “So she did actually like him then? He wasn’t talking nonsense?”

Catelyn sighs. “Yes. I thought it was just a thing from childhood. You see, Petyr was the only one who really paid her much attention. After mother died I was busy with my betrothal and handling the household. Edmure was so young. That just left Petyr. And I think he fell in with her as a way to get to me.”

Ned comes to her and places his arms around her. “You can’t blame yourself for this Cat. Baelish was a snake. He would have found some way to get into her head.”

“Yes, but wasn’t it you who said that it was because of his influence over her that he was able to get away with so much?” Catelyn replies. “He killed Jon, Ned. He had him poisoned to bring you here. He wanted something. He always wanted something. Perhaps if I had seen it sooner we could have avoided this whole thing and we’d be in the north still.”

Ned sighs against her. “I don’t think that would have changed anything. Baelish was determined to bring me south. I just happened to be better at this than he thought.” Her husband pauses then, as if uncertain whether he should say what he is thinking. She turns then, and looks at him, encouraging him to speak his mind. “I think that I quite like it here Cat.” Ned eventually says.

“You do?” she asks surprised.

“I do. I think it is a nice change from being in Winterfell. I miss home, of course I do. But I think coming here is good. It has given me a chance to see whether I am actually any good at this lord business. So far I think I am doing okay. The court is improving.” Her husband replies.

“And working with the Lannisters?” Catelyn asks, she knows her husband, she knows he doesn’t like the lions, and likely never will.

Here Ned chuckles. “I don’t like them. I do not think I can. But I will work with them. I will work with them for now. The King is beginning to trust me. Once he does completely trust me, then perhaps we can make sure the power of the lions is reduced.”

“And if he doesn’t trust you?” Catelyn asks.

Her husband sighs. “Then I will have to hope Sansa is a good wife. I cannot do this completely on my own. The King is still a boy, he will know what needs to be done sooner or later.”

Catelyn nods, she is worried, about this, about the change in her husband, but she knows that mentioning all of that now would not do them any good, so instead she says. “The girls seem to be doing better now. And they seem to be getting along just fine now. Perhaps they’ve finally settled down.”

Ned laughs. “I think it has something to do with the fact they hardly see one another.”

Catelyn looks at her husband disapprovingly, she does not know why her girls do not get along with one another. When she was growing up, she and Lysa got on well, it was only when they were young women that things changed. “What were you like with your siblings?” she asks, simply so she can gauge how far this runs.

Her husband hesitates, she knows how hard it is for him to talk about Brandon and Lyanna, but he seems to have gotten more comfortable about talking about them recently. “I was never close to Lya, I didn’t know her. She was just a babe when I left for the Vale. Benjen as well. But I was close to Brandon. We were very good friends when we were growing up. And that remained true even when I was in the Vale.”

“And did you ever argue?” Catelyn asks.

“Yes. Sometimes we did. And when we did it was something furious. But we always made up in the end.” Ned responds. Something in his tone suggests a wistfulness for an age long gone by. “There were times when I wondered at it all you know. How Brandon managed to be how he was with all the responsibilities he faced. Then I realise, it was because of those responsibilities that he was the way he was.”

“What do you mean?” Catelyn asks.

“Our father was very controlling. He had a grand scheme in his head. And if we didn’t live up to that, he was very disappointed in us. I think he wanted Brandon to be a certain way, and Brandon being Brandon he had to be different.” Ned says. “I think that’s why he went south that day. Not because Lya had been taken, but because father had told him to stay.”

Catelyn remembers those days, back when she had thought herself half in love with Brandon, he’d ridden off promising to come back and marry her. He never had and instead she had married his brother. Ned was more than she could have asked for, more than she deserved, and the thought that perhaps Brandon was not what he seemed, well perhaps that was fair enough. Before she can respond though there is a knock on the door. “Come in.” she says wondering who could be calling at this late hour.

Jory walks in, looking slightly bedraggled. “My lord, my lady, my apologies. But I came as quickly as I could.”

“What is it Jory?” Ned asks sounding worried.

“Lord Wyman, my lord. He’s dead.” Jory replies.

* * *

 

**“Tick, tock. Round the clock.”**


	35. Welcome To The Party

****

**“Sometimes the world throws up something quite deplorable. Most will shy away from it, for who wants to be associated with such a thing. But a small minority will get to know the thing that brings revulsion to everyone else. This is one such time, and I am one such person. There is far too much at stake here, for common courtesy. We must act, act quickly. The world depends on it.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

“Wyman Manderly is dead.” Renly says, repeating the news he had heard from one of his own men, to Loras. The words come out sounding surprised, but they should not be. The man was fat, he was grossly fat, that he had lived for as long as he had was an achievement in of itself.

“You sound surprised. Why are you surprised?” Loras asks. “The man was called Lord Too Fat To Sit A Horse for a reason.”

Renly laughs, the sound comes out more strained than he thought it would. “I know Loras. But still, it is surprising. Pycelle claims the man died of a heart attack.”

“And you do not believe Pycelle is being honest?” Loras queries.

Renly sighs. “I do not know. Manderly was Stark’s man, he was doing things to reform the crown finances that would have made Pycelle uncomfortable, and therefore would have made Tywin Lannister uncomfortable. Robert also died from a heart attack, and he was nowhere near as fat as Wyman was. I just think there is something more going on here.”

“Like what? Robert being killed off I can understand; it gets Joffrey on the throne. But Wyman? The man was working for the crown as you said. What benefit does Pycelle or Tywin get from his death?” Loras asks.

Renly runs a hand through his hair, he is not sure how to express the concerns he has, without sounding paranoid. “I just think that Tywin Lannister accepted the fact that it was his son and not him who was named Hand when Joffrey ascended the throne, because he knew or he hoped he would still have some form of influence.” He takes a breath, takes a sip of wine then keeps speaking. “Then Stark brought Manderly in, and started having more of an influence over the King. I think Tywin got a bit worried. His hold over the crown and everything associated with it was beginning to falter. I don’t think he would have liked that.”

“So he would have had Manderly killed? That doesn’t make sense Renly. If anything, surely he would have known that such a thing would lead back to him?” Loras points out.

Renly shakes his head. “Once perhaps that would have been the case, but now, now there is someone else who will lead the suspicions. Braavos is at the head of the list for most of those who think there was something wrong with these deaths.”

“And what does Stark think?” Loras asks.

“Stark believes Manderly died because of his weight, nothing more. Perhaps he is right, and perhaps I am over thinking this. But there is something happening elsewhere. I think there has been too little from Braavos, considering how proud they are. Something is going to give soon enough.” Renly states.

“Why?” Loras asks. “They were destroyed when the war happened, they will be destroyed if something happens again.”

“That was then, when we surprised them with the attack. Now they would expect something like that, perhaps they would even welcome it. Whatever happens, they would be prepared for it. They might even instigate it. And I do not think we have a chance to stop them.” Renly replies.

“Why? Who is being considered for the role of Master of Coin?” Loras questions.

“Kevan Lannister seems to be top of the list, alongside Lord Mooton. I imagine though that Lannister will get it. Regardless neither man has the will or the power to continue the reforms that Manderly was planning, nor do they have the stomach to go toe to toe with Braavos.” Renly states.

“Why not nominate someone yourself?” Loras asks.

“Who would I nominate? Your father is a buffoon. Willas does not seem to want the role.” Renly states.

“The last time you asked Willas, you phrased it as a demand, not as a request. Phrase it as a request and I am sure he will be more inclined to listen.” Loras points out.

Renly thinks over this, admittedly, it would be good to have someone who is an ally and a friend on the council. Stark is a friend, but not an ally, and well the others are merely there as Lannister stooges. Perhaps the time has come for him to show more of his hand. He looks at Loras and says. “Very well, I’ll write to Willas, if you do so as well. He will be more likely to listen to us both, than just me.”

Loras nods, and kisses his cheek then. “Alright I will.” His lover pauses for a moment, then asks. “What about Margaery? What should I tell her?”

Renly sighs, that part of his plan seems to have been derailed, there was so much that he still needed to do, and he was not sure if it would be achieved. Still, it needed to be done. “Write to her and tell her to be ready. Soon we shall have what we need. I think the King might be more amenable to marrying someone who he considers an equal, rather than someone who is less than him.”

“You think?” Loras asks.

“Yes. The Stark girl is that; she is just a girl. Whereas Margaery is a woman, I think the King will appreciate her more. And if he does not, well there is always Tommen.” Renly states.

Loras nods. “I will write to her.”

* * *

 

**“A piece, or two. No more. I promise. Please I promise no more. But I do not know where to go from here. Do not kick me out of here. I have no home. You are my home.”**


	36. Dreams

**“Lie to me. It’s all that you do nowadays. Lie to me. Keep lying, hoping I won’t see through you. I don’t even know what to think of you anymore. It seems there’s one standard for you, and the rest of us just have to accept your judgement. I’m tired of that. Why is it different for you, and different for me? We breathe the same air, we bleed the same colour. I don’t understand. I don’t understand you.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Arya Stark**

The hour was late. Her body bore the bruises of another day spent training with Syrio. She was getting better, Syrio was telling her so, and she knew he did not say such things lightly. Still there was something she was not sure about. She was chasing cats, but she could not catch one cat in particular. It was an old cat, black with red eyes. It had a scar on its right eye. It kept eluding her, and it was beginning to frustrate her. Sighing, Arya shifts a little, and moves the pillow into a better place. Perhaps tomorrow she will be able to catch the cat…perhaps tomorrow…

_She is running, but she does not remember running. She is moving through the corridor like someone is chasing her. From the fear she feels, she thinks someone is chasing her. Why she does not know. All she knows is that she has to run. She cannot stop. And so she continues, she moves passed servants, who do not seem to see her, passed guards who do not seem to notice her. She keeps going, but she can hear the heavy foot falls of her pursuer. They make her blood shoot up, her breathing come out laboured. She runs and runs. Until she hits a wall. The impact making her curse. The footfalls come toward her and she sees her pursuer. A great beast of a man, a giant who has broken from his chains, he moves toward her a smile on his face._

_“We cannot allow them to move further from the plan.” A woman says._

_“I know, but if we allow them this, perhaps they might get off our backs regarding the rights.” A man replies._

_“And are you seriously considering doing this? Is it worth the risk?” the woman asks._

_The man looks at her, then presses his hand to her stomach. “If it means protecting you and our child, then yes.”_

_“But how do you know it will? They are unpredictable, they know nothing of the south. And her betrothed is a fool.” The woman replies._

_The man does not get a chance to reply, for soon fire engulfs them all. And yet the man and woman do not seem concerned by it. They merely keep talking, though she cannot hear the words. The fire continues to burn brightly, eating at all and sundry. When it dies down, there is but two things left, hunched and crooked. They walk with limps, and talk funnily._

_“The ground will shake tonight.” The taller one says._

_“Yes, the ground will shake tonight, and the beasts will come out.” The smaller one says._

_“The master will be happy. She has long hungered for a chance to return. For a chance to make something work.” The taller one states._

_“Yes, but she will want someone, or something. She will want blood, how can we get that?” the smaller one asks._

_“We have a chance. There is a girl we know, or rather the swordsman knows. She could be used. And then we can turn her into one of our own beings.” The taller one says._

_“Would the master approve?” the smaller one asks. “You know how she is about these sorts of things.”_

_The taller one laughs. “Oh she will definitely approve.”_

_Somewhere a raven caws, it looks at her and caws. “Snow! Corn! Snow! Corn!” she worries the raven will alert the things, but they do not stir. She moves a little, and the next thing she knows, she is falling, falling, falling. “Fly!” the raven roars at her._

_“How?” she asks, but the raven is gone. It has disappeared. She lands on the ground, and finds herself in a dark chamber. Two hooded figures stand there, hidden in the darkness._

_“You have everything in place?” one of the figures asks, their voice deep._

_“Yes. They are all in position. All we need now is the right excuse, and the whole place will go off.” The other figure replies._

_“And the map?”_

_“Safe and sound with one of my people. I would never let that thing fall into the hands of the lions.”_

_“You are certain that they know nothing of this?”_

_“I am. They will not know about this until it is too late for them to stop it.”_

_“He has approved this?”_

_“Yes. He gave the word before he left. We must act, and we must do it now.”_

_“Very well. I shall have my men ready to sweep up the mess when it comes.”_

_“Good. Make sure to make it as discreet as possible. We do not want someone poking their nose around.”_

_“Of course.”_

_The two figures move apart, and she sees something new, something completely terrifying. A wolf and a lion fighting one another, before a falcon comes to peck at their eyes. A stag staggering backwards and forwards as if drunk. A trout flapping weakly on the ground, out of water, and out of place. Then a dragon comes, roaring, breathing black fire. When the fire stops, they are all reduced to ash, leaving the dragon there alone, and dying._

Arya wakes up with a start. She presses a hand to her head, and feels the heat emanating off of it. She does not know what she saw, nor does she think she wants to know. Still, he takes a breath and looks to the side. When she looks back, a crow is perched on the window staring at her.

* * *

 

**“It begins, tonight.”**


	37. Salt and Iron

**“We were not meant to sit idly by and watch the waves lap across our shores. We were meant for reaving, for plundering, for taking what was ours. I do not know this boy who claims to be my liege lord. I do not know this boy who claims to be Balon’s son. I do not know him; I do not want to know him. But I will follow him, for that is who I am. And I resent it.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

“How much longer will we dally about here Theon?” Asha’s voice comes strong and stern, and for a moment he feels like recoiling against it.

Yet he is the Lord of the Iron Islands, Lord Reaper of Pyke, he will not recoil. “We are doing what needs to be done, to ensure our ships are well stocked for the journey ahead.”

“You have been saying that since we left Slaver’s Bay. Tell me honestly Theon, do you have a plan?” his sister asks.

Theon can sense her irritation, and for parts of it he can understand, but others he cannot. “Do you?” he fires back. “You claim to want to continue raiding, but where would you have us go? We cannot go to Westeros; we cannot go to Braavos. We have used up the power of surprise on the western coast. Slaver’s Bay has paid us good money, where to now?”

“You should never have accepted that money.” Victarion says then, his voice grim and foreboding.

“Why?” Theon asks, his voice barely concealing the irritation he feels. They have been over this before.

“It was not done by paying the Iron Price. You accepted a bribe.” His uncle says as if he is simple.

Theon looks his uncle in the eye and says. “I did what was necessary. I spared lives, and made us richer.”

Theon resists the temptation to roll his eyes when his uncle says. “You made us look weak.”

“How exactly did I do that? By not allowing thousands of our men to shed their own blood needlessly? By making sure we had enough food to buy supplies and to develop our ships?” Theon fires back.

“By accepting furs and money as if it was owed to you. Not as if you had won it. Your father would never have accepted that.” His uncle replies, his voice getting louder.

“My father would never have thought to go for Braavos.” Theon replies, his voice dangerously low.

“Your father would have sensed an opportunity and taken it.” His uncle states, his eyes bulging with anger.

Theon stares into those eyes, eyes which had frightened him as a child, and he finds he feels only disdain for them. “My father would have done that and the Seven Kingdoms would have destroyed him, as they did once before. Or have you forgotten how the last war ended? I know it is hard for you to think of anything in that thick head of yours uncle.” Theon snaps.

His uncle stands then, and Theon can sense the anger bristling off of him. “I remember well enough boy.”

Theon looks at his uncle unimpressed. “I am your liege lord, not a boy. Now sit down and listen, or I will cut your ear off myself.”

There is a long moment where it seems as if his uncle will not sit down, they stare at one another and seem to be daring the other to make the first mistake. Eventually his uncle sits down and asks. “What do you have planned then?”

Theon remains standing, to give an air of authority. “We will remain here for the time being. Lys has been good to us, we have made money, we have gotten supplies. But we need one more thing, and until that thing comes we cannot leave.”

He can tell that he has his sister and uncle’s interest now. “And what exactly is this thing that we are waiting for?” his sister asks.

Theon takes a moment to consider them, he trusts Asha implicitly of course he does. He does not however, trust his uncle. Still if it gets the man off his back he will tell him. “I have had word from Lord Stark, he is worried about the growing power of the Lannisters in Westeros. There is a man here in Lys who knows some of the ways in and around the defences the Lannisters have. I am waiting for my men to find this man, to bring him here. To us.”

“And what will you do with this man?” his sister asks, her interest clearly piqued.

At this Theon smiles. “Why, I will ask him to show us the things he made for the Lannisters, and how to breach them.”

“And why would you ask him that? I thought you said you would not attack Westeros whilst there were allies we could make?” his sister asks.

“The boy is doing this for the Starks. He is their dog.” His uncle says derisively.

Theon can feel his patience with his uncle fast disappearing. He stares at the man and says. “No, I am not doing this for Stark. I am doing this for us. There are plenty of things within the Lannister strongholds across the west that we could break through and exploit. The man knows this.”

“And why would he help us?” Asha asks.

Theon grins then. “Because I know how to give him what he wants.”

“And what is it he wants?” his sister asks.

“Tywin Lannister’s head on a plate.” Theon states.

There is a long pause, and then his sister says. “So your plan is to essentially ensure that we have this man, and make him talk. Through promising him the chance of revenge. What happens if the Westerosi do as you argued they would do as before?”

“Seeing as they will think we are on the other side of the world, they will never know.” Theon responds.

“I am sure they would know.” His sister says.

“Not if we do not fly our banners.” Theon responds.

* * *

 

**“Greed, greed. All of the greed.”**


	38. Master of None

****

**“Information is a valuable thing. To have information is to have power. And when you have power, people are far more willing to listen to what you have to say. That is the one thing I learned from my mother. And it is the one thing I intend to stick by. Never again will anyone sneak up on the throne, for their lack of information. We shall rule.”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

“The most pressing matter right now is the issue of the succession to the Twins. Ryman Frey is the rightful Lord of the Crossing after his father and grandfather’s deaths. His sons might have forgotten that but I have not. After all, if I allow them this leeway, what is there to stop others from trying something with me?” Joffrey says, looking around the council chamber, daring anyone to speak up in opposition.

“Lord Ryman is weak though Your Grace. I do not know if he could hold such a valuable seat without constant assistance.” His mother replies.

Joffrey looks at his mother annoyed by her presence here. “Yes, weak he might be, yet he is the rightful Lord of the Crossing. His sons are after him in the succession. They should have remembered that. I will not abide by their treachery.”

“What do you suggest we do then Your Grace?” his mother asks probingly. “There are men and resources in Braavos, where they need to be. We are not looking to start a war here. Surely it would be better to allow the numerous Freys to fight one another and lessen the issue for us?”

“You would ask the King to step back and do nothing? To see his people, die?” Stark asks sounding horrified.

“If it meant sparing more lives in the long term, yes I would.” Mother replies nonachantly. “Nothing is as important as ensuring the long-term survival of the kingdoms. The Freys are a short-term problem.”

“Your Grace, the Freys little war could well be a long-term problem.” Renly points out. “The more they fight amongst themselves, the more damage they do to the castle, and to the trade routes. They offer safe harbour to those who wish to trade in the Riverlands and the North and elsewhere. If they go into chaos, then the route will be likely to open to bandits. Then their wealth will be gone. And the seven only know who would take up that mantle.”

Joffrey knows exactly what his uncle is referring to. The tales he grew up were about the Vulture King, a man who took advantage of chaos and uncertainty. He could not allow that. And so, he looks at his mother, then at Lord Stark and says. “Lord Stark, I want you to head north with a band of men, take as many as you need, and put Lord Ryman back in his rightful position.”

Stark nods and asks. “And what do you wish for me to do with his sons?”

Joffrey considers this, he knows Stark dislikes killing children, but Ryman Frey’s sons are not children anymore, they are adults, men, fully grown. He looks at the man and says. “Kill them.” The man nods, and that conversation ends. Joffrey turns to Pycelle and asks. “So then, who are the candidates for master of coin?”

Pycelle is a dithering old man who Joffrey despises, but he is necessary for things. “Ser Kevan Lannister, a good man, honest, and someone who is known for having a shrewd mind.” A pause then. “Ser Willas Tyrell, a good thinker and counter, has helped keep Highgarden’s income far above the rest of the Seven Kingdoms for many years now.”

“Tyrell is a cripple; he has not walked properly since Oberyn Martell damaged his leg at a tourney.” Mother points out, her voice filled with disdain.

“I was not aware one had to have two fully functioning legs to be able to do a job that involves counting money?” Lord Renly quips. The man then looks at him and says. “Ser Willas is a perfectly good candidate for the role Your Grace. He has experience, and he has an outsider’s point of view.”

Joffrey nods, this is something he has long considered. He approved the choice of Lord Wyman, mainly because the man was from the north, that he was a good counter and master of coin was a bonus. Now, now he thinks that having someone neither from the north or from the west would do good as well. And if he is right about what is coming, then they will soon need the Tyrells on their side. “Very well. I want word sent to Highgarden. Invite Ser Willas here, and tell him he is master of coin.” He sees his uncle smile, and sees Pycelle scribbling down quite quickly, no doubt, something will be sent off to the Rock soon as well. He then turns to Stark and asks. “And what of the role of Master of Ships? Since Stannis has sat rotting in a cell, the fleet has slowly fallen into a bit of disarray I want that sorted. Who would you recommend?”

“Lord Redwyne would make a good choice Your Grace.” Stark replies.

Joffrey shakes his head. “I would not have two of the same house sitting on this small council.” He notes the irony in Pycelle and his mother sitting here, but still, there are some things he needs Pycelle for. After all, the man has provided him with aid more times than he can count. There is of course his uncle Tyrion, who sits silently on the side, doing and saying nothing. “I want someone who knows the waves, but is not beholden to anyone else. Perhaps Lord Grafton? After all, the shrew in the Vale has yet to send someone to swear formal fealty.” That is one issue that gnarls him. The one whore he had dealt with had confessed that Baelish had told the shrew not to do this.

“Lord Grafton would make a good choice Your Grace.” Stark says.

Joffrey nods and says. “See that it is done.”

* * *

 

**“I will not see the Tyrells take over. They are nothing but swine.”**


	39. Something About You

****

**“Pieces move. People come and go. But the heart knows what the heart wants. To deny such a thing, well that would be a crime. There is duty, and there is strife, but never forget that when the time comes, only your loved ones will be at your side. If you forget that, then you are lost. If you remember that, then you are saved. Just remember me, when the drums of war fade.”**

* * *

 

**Brandon Stark**

“Father’s going to deal with the issues at the Twins and he’s going to be taking me with him.” Bran says, feeling a mixture of excitement and worry.

Tommen seems to need a minute before saying. “I see. And how do you feel about that?”

Bran can tell there is something off about Tommen, he can hear it in his voice, but he’s not sure what it is. Right now though, he needs to talk about this. “I’m quite excited. I think it would be brilliant, and a chance for me to show that I’m not a boy anymore. That I’m capable of holding my own like Robb. And, I’d get to see combat from the front, not behind lines or camp, as father always leads from the front.”

“And that excites you? The thought of leading a dashing charge?” Tommen asks, his voice sounding even more strange.

“Well yes, isn’t that what we’ve both talked about? The thought of leading forces into battle? I’d get to actually do that. I’d get the chance to fight and make a name for myself. Isn’t that what we both want? To make a name for ourselves?” Bran asks, searchingly.

Tommen sighs, and Bran senses that he’s going to get an earful now. “Yes, but not through war.”

“What do you mean not through war? How else are we supposed to make a name for ourselves Tommen? We’re second sons, we’re not being trusted with the political stuff, we have to make a name for ourselves on the field of battle. We’re both good fighters, good swordsmen, surely this should be a good thing?” Bran asks, demandingly.

“I’m not saying that it’s not Bran.” Tommen states, though his voice sounds more resigned than anything.

“You’re not exactly being as receptive as I thought you’d be.” Bran replies. “Is it because you’re not going on the journey as well?” he’d heard about how the Queen Dowager had refused to allow her second son to accompany father on the fight.

“No.” Tommen replies sharply.

“Then what is it?” Bran asks frustrated. “Why are you acting as if this is the worst news you’ve heard all day?”

“Because it is.” Tommen replies softly. “It is the worst news I’ve heard all day.”

“What? Why?” Bran asks confused.

“Because you’re going off to fight. You’re not going off to fight just anyone, you’re going off to fight Freys. Do you know just how bloody dangerous that is Bran?” Tommen states.

“No more dangerous than any other fight.” Bran replies.

Tommen snorts. “If you think that you’re a bloody fool.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bran demands angrily.

Tommen stares at him and then says. “The Freys do not fight like any other solider or man we know Bran. You saw them during the tourney, they fight with a savagery that only comes from having to fight for anything. To fight to be heard. They will not fight with chivalry nor will they fight with honour. They will fight to kill. And if you’re at the front, you will be the biggest target there alongside your father.”

“Because my father is hand?” Bran asks uncertain now.

“Because you have a claim on the Riverlands. Your grandfather is dying; your uncle is stuck doing nothing and everything. If he dies, you are an heir to the Riverlands. They will want you dead or captured.” Tommen points out.

“Oh.” Bran says then, the realisation hitting him, he had not thought about that, too caught up in the joy of being told he was going to help campaign in the Riverlands. He looks at Tommen and sees the naked worry on his friend’s face. Something in his heart breaks at the sight. “Do you think I should ask to stay here?” he asks then.

Tommen takes his hand, and surprisingly says. “No, I don’t think so. You’ve wanted to go on campaign for as long as we’ve known one another. I think you should go if you want to go.”

Bran looks at their joined hands, then, he takes his free hand and runs it across Tommen’s cheek. Softly, he asks. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Tommen asks.

“Will you be okay here? On your own? With Joffrey?” Bran asks, he knows what Joffrey has been trying to do to Tommen, and he knows his friend is terrified.

His friend, however, puts on a brave face and says. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be too worried about you to worry about him. Besides, I can defend myself.”

Bran nods, he knows his friend is being brave, and most likely being honest, but he cannot help but worry about him. He runs his hand over his friend’s cheek, then brings their joined hands together. He kisses the fingers, acting more on impulse than anything else. Slowly he says. “Father says we’re going to be leaving on the morrow. I…I…I do not want to leave without saying a proper goodbye.”

His friend looks at him with big eyes. “What do you mean?”

Bran is not sure what is driving him forward here, but he leans in, he looks at his friend’s lips then at his friend and whispers. “I don’t want any more questions between Us Tommen.” He moves the distance and presses his lips against his friend’s, he waits, fear coursing through him, and then when Tommen kisses back he smiles.

* * *

 

**“Never forget that love can conquer fear. Never forget that love can conquer hate. Never forget that we are all capable of love. But for some, that is the hardest part of all. Admitting that we can love and we can be hurt because of it. Without love, there is no joy in the world.”**


	40. Conversations Again

****

**“Bodies. It is always a body with him. Mutilated, scarred. I did not think that this was something that would get so out of hand. Perhaps if Robert had done more, this issue would not be here now. Perhaps not. Robert had his own issues. Perhaps we are plagued with the Targaryen madness after all. Stannis certainly is.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

The candles in the King’s solar were flickering. Darkness had come upon them quite quickly, as it was wont to do this time of year. The flickering of the light cast a pale and dark shadow across the room. Renly looks at his nephew, and asks. “What did you wish to speak about Your Grace?”

The King looks tired, Renly is not surprised, a lot has been happening recently. “I wanted to speak to you about Stannis.” A pause, Renly is not surprised by this either. “You had spoken to him recently. What did he say?”

Renly thinks back to the conversation with his brother, the man was now little more than a husk. Whoever was questioning him was doing a very good job. “He continued in his insistence that you needed to listen to him. That you could not trust your mother or your uncle Tyrion. That they were conspiring against you.”

“Did you ask him about the letters?” the King asks. Ah yes, those letters, they had done wonders, and now Stannis was having a hard time defending himself.

“I did Your Grace. He continued to insist that he did not believe they held treasonous material in them when he took them.” Renly responds. “He continues to plead for his innocence and ask that you meet with him.”

The King snorts. “I will not meet with him. He is lucky to still be alive.”

Renly nods, he quite agrees. “If I might ask Sire. When will he be sent to the Wall? If you do not intend to kill him, he needs to be gone from here as soon as possible. The longer he remains in chains here, the longer people will whisper.”

The King seems to consider his words, his face contorted in thought. “I will send him to the Wall in three days’ time, once Lord Grafton has gotten accustomed to the duties he will take on.” The King’s mouth opens and then closes as if he wished to say something but was not sure how to say it. Renly leans forward intently, when the King speaks once more. “What do you think should be done about the man’s wife and daughter?

“Shireen is but a girl, her position as Lady of Dragonstone is not guaranteed. I think she would do fine here at court. She is a harmless girl. It is her mother and the witch who whispers in her ear that you need worry about. I would recommend sending the mother to the Seven, and killing the witch.” Renly states.

“You think the Florents would be happy with that?” the King asks.

“The Florents will be more than happy with that. You are their King; they owe their very existence to your continued good will Sire.” Renly points out.

“Just like the Tyrells.” The King states, looking at him with intent eyes.

“Just like the Tyrells.” Renly agrees. He hesitates then, uncertain over whether to pursue the next line of questions he has. He sees the King looking at him, and so he speaks. “Sire, recently there has been a spring of bodies appearing in the Blackwater. Women who were formerly in brothels owned by Petyr Baelish.”

“And?” the King asks.

“They all had auburn hair, and green or blue eyes. Similar to Lady Stark and her daughter.” Renly says. “I know that this seems odd Sire, but someone is killing off whores who look exactly like your betrothed and her mother.”

The King seems to be paying attention now, he leans forward in his seat. “Are you suggesting someone is trying to make a point?”

“Yes. I think someone is targeting these women either to make a point about their power, or they are doing it to try and scare us.” Renly says honestly. He thinks he knows who is doing the killing, but he knows that he needs to approach the matter delicately.

“And what would you suggest I do?” the King asks. “I cannot just go ahead and demand that anyone who has been to see these whores come forward.”

“I would not suggest anything of the sort Your Grace. I would merely recommend caution.” Renly says.

The King stares at him. “And how do you think I should protect my betrothed?”

“I would not tell her what is happening. After all, the dynasty is still young. It does not have the legs to avoid this kind of scandal.” Renly says.

“The scandal, if it indeed comes about to that, how badly will it damage our reputation?” the King asks.

“A lot. The Royal Family suffered when the sack happened. Robert’s whoring further damaged the reputation of the family. The continued presence of the Lannisters at court, is slowly eroding prestige as well. This scandal will destroy the family.” Renly replies.

The King’s eyes widen at that, clearly he had not expected such a strong reply. His words are careful and measured when he asks. “And why do you think that?”

“Because the nobles see the crown as they saw it during the days of the Mad King’s reign. Nothing more than a Lannister rubber stamp. Lannisters sit in positions on council and in court. They dominate the City Watch, through Robert overriding my own beliefs. They sit and they dictate. You must not let them continue to do that.” Renly responds.

The King’s eyes lessen in size then; his mouth forms a firm line. When he opens his mouth, his words seem clear and concise. “Then I will do what I can to make sure the crown remains secure.”

Renly smiles. “Good.” The King nods and he rises, but as he gets to the door, he turns and says. “Oh and Your Grace. If you feel the urge to do something, do it discreetly.”

* * *

 

**“Find me the way out of here. Find me a way home. Find me absolution. To the Stranger I Pray.”**


	41. On The Road Again

****

**“I had thought that my days of riding in the saddle off to war were over. I can still hear the screams of men dying as we fought them. As we fought what we thought was right, and as they fought for what they thought was right. I do not know what will come from this. But I hope that once this is done we can avoid future wars. There is no glory in war, only pain, only hurt. I will not rest until this is done though, for I know my duty.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

“We have fifteen thousand men. More than enough to divide into three divisions and force the fighting at the Twins to finish.” Ned says, his voice strong and clear, reading through the reports Jory had given him.

“There is more than just three divisions fighting at the Twins my lord.” Edmure, his goodbrother says. “There are thousands of them fighting one another, aided by their own families and their family’s family. We would need a force not seen since the days of the Field of Fire to handle all of them.”

Ned stares at his goodbrother, wondering why Edmure had not dealt with this problem before it had become a problem, then he remembers the reports he had heard, of invaders and raiders in the southern Riverlands and he sighs. “What would you suggest then Edmure?”

His goodbrother is a young man, he was barely a boy when the rebellion happened, and now, he is a young man, strong and determined to make his mark. He reminds Ned of Robb and Brandon. His words are strong when he replies. “I think we should hit them in their different encampments.” Ned sees his goodbrother point out several figures camped near different bends of the Green Fork. “On the northern side, you have the Twins. Right now that is under Black Walder’s control, he has some two thousand men with him. He will hold up there for now.” Edmure then gestures at the other pieces. “On the eastern side of the fork, you have Edwyn Frey, he has some one thousand men with him, as well as the support of his wife’s family the Hunters.” Another pause, this time, Edmure gestures to the western side. “Here you have Petyr Frey and his four hundred men and the support of the Carons who brought men up for a celebration when Lord Walder died.”

“They are camped near Seagard.” Ned points out. “Patrek what has your father been doing this time if not trying to defeat them?”

 The young heir to Seagard looks slightly embarrassed when he responds. “He’s been treating with Petyr. He believes the man would serve him better as Lord of the Twins than any of his brothers. Or you Lord Ryman.”

“What treachery is this!” Ryman Frey slurs, drunk off his face as always.

Ned ignores the man and asks. “Why does he think that Patrek?”

“Petyr is not stupid, but he is not bright either. Father hopes to gain more trade privileges by supporting him.” Patrek replies.

Ned exhales a deep forlorn breath; he should have seen this coming. “I see. And if we were to propose that Ryman would name Petyr his heir what would your father do?”

“I won’t name that traitor my heir!” Ryman snarls.

Ned glares at Ryman, forcing the man to shut his mouth. He looks at Patrek expectantly, and eventually the man says. “He’d support Ryman.”

Ned nods, looks back toward Ryman and says. “My lord, we now know who you are going to be naming your heir. Under the King’s orders.”

The man seems dejected, his shoulders slump, his mouth quivers but he accepts. “Very well. But how will you defeat the forces gathered under my other sons?”

Ned stares at the map, his eyes hiding the indecision he feels. The Green Fork is a great beast, they must make sure they make things easy for their men, but not too easy. Dividing their forces would produce the greatest effect, but attacking piecemeal would also do the same. They must take the Twins first and foremost. “We march northwards, we meet with Lord Mallister and with Petyr and we bring them onto our side. From there we march for the Twins. My sons are gathering a force of men, that should be heading towards the Twins now. We shall attack from two sides.”

“You mean to tell me there is a horde of northmen coming toward my home?” Ryman exclaims.

“Yes.” Ned responds unimpressed. “You do wish to sit in the Twins do you not and rule as Lord of the place until your death?”

Ryman bows his head. “Yes of course.”

Satisfied, Ned nods, then turns his attention back to the map in front of him. “We will have to move quickly. No doubt Edwyn will try to make his own attack. But Black Walder is the one we must focus on. He has military experience and has power in the Twins, that more of the family has not sided with him is interesting in itself. We shall need to strike here at western and southern gates. Whilst my sons attack from the northern gates.”

“What method of siege equipment are you bringing?” Ryman asks then, his voice sounding oddly dejected.

“We have as you have seen catapults and trebuchets. I will not needlessly waste lives on this castle. We shall destroy the foundations then move in.” Ned responds.

He can tell that the man does not approve, his eyes look downward, his mouth is in a harsh line. “And what about my son what will you do with him?”

Ned takes a breath, remembering the King’s orders. “He will die, as will anyone who fights for him.”

Ryman Frey shakes his head in sadness and mutters something to himself. Before, straightening up and saying. “Very well.”

* * *

 

**“My home, my own home will be destroyed. Why couldn’t father and grandfather have just died?! Why did they have to live for ever?”**


	42. Woman

**“The first time is always the most painful. You feel as though you are being changed from the inside out. It starts subtly, then moves onto the obvious. It is a hard thing to explain. But it is something every mother must do for her daughter. My own mother didn’t get the chance, my Septa had to explain it to me. I won’t allow Mordane to do that for Sansa, or for Arya.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Sansa Stark**

Sansa wakes up to an odd sensation, something feels wrong. It is as if there is a wetness and a dampness near her, on her, but she is not sure where it comes from. She sits up, and she feels it spread. She hurries to move the sheets of her body, and she sees redness spreading across her sheets. She is not sure what to do, but she looks at the sheets, then at the door that leads to her mother’s bedroom. She hesitantly gets up and moves to the door, she knocks, but hears no answer, she slowly pushes the door open. “Mother.” She calls.

Her mother stirs. “Sansa, what is it sweetling?”

Sansa hesitates, uncertain of how to explain what has happened. “Mother, I think my time has come.” She has heard her mother describe it as such, and so that is the word she uses.

Her mother sits up straight away, then gets out of her own bed. “You are sure?”

“Yes mother. My sheets are red.” Sansa says then she blushes.

“Very well.” Mother replies, walking past Sansa into her room, Sansa follows her after a moment.

Mother looks at her sheets, left on the bed in her haste to get her, and she nods. Then she turns to Sansa. “Help me put these into the basket at the side.” Sansa nods and helps her mother lift the sheets, putting them away into a basket meant for washing later. Once that is done, mother looks at her and says. “Do you know what this means Sansa?”

“It means I am a woman now, and will be ready to marry King Joffrey.” She replies.

To her surprise Mother sighs. “Yes it does mean that, but do you know what it really means?”

Sansa quirks an eyebrow. “I am not sure I understand Mother.”

Sansa hears her Mother mutter something that sounds oddly like what she’d heard father say about Septa Mordane. “What did that woman teach you?” But then Mother looks at her and smiles. “Sit down Sansa, this is an important conversation.” Sansa sits down not on the bed, but on a chair, Mother pulls up another chair and sits in it as well. “You have had your first bleed Sansa. That means that yes you are now a woman. But you will also have these bleeds every month, roughly around this time. When that happens, you might feel a little bit of pain, and if you do, you should tell me.”

“Why would it hurt Mother? It didn’t hurt this time.” Sansa asks.

She can tell Mother is struggling with how to best explain this, but she does so anyway. “Your body is changing, and so as it changes, it will begin to pain. These are normal things Sansa; you are growing with your body. You merely need to tell me and I will help you.”

Curious, Sansa asks. “How will you help me Mother?”

Mother laughs softly. “I can see why you might wonder how. But, I can tell you how to best deal with the pain, what medicines to have, how to handle the changing of the sheets. And how best to manage the new emotions you might feel.”

“New emotions?” Sansa asks startled.

“Yes, when your time of the month comes near, you might feel very happy, or very sad. Sometimes it can be hard to manage those emotions. I can help you deal with that.” Mother replies.

Sansa smiles. “Thank you, Mother.” She hesitates, then asks. “What was it like for you, when you had your first bleed?”

Mother is silent for moment, her expression one of fondness. “I was about the same age as you. My mother told me some of the things that would come. But she was very ill then. I learned a lot on my own and from the Septa.”

“I could not imagine Septa Mordane talking to me about this.” Sansa says honestly.

Mother looks surprised at that for a brief moment before saying. “No, I don’t think she would either. But regardless, you do not need to talk to her about it.”

Silence falls for some time then, as they both sit there considering what has happened. Then Sansa asks. “Will I have to marry the King Immediately Mother?” the thought worries her a little, she likes the King, she thinks she might love him as well, but the thought of marrying so soon is worrying.

Mother shakes her head. “No, I do not think so. I think we shall speak to your Father when he comes back from the Twins, then we shall see.”

A thought comes to Sansa then. “You were my age when you were betrothed to Uncle Brandon, weren’t you Mother?”

“I was.” Mother replies.

“How did you feel?” Sans asks curious.

“I was a little scared, and a little excited. It was something new. And he was very handsome and charming. I did everything I could to make sure I knew the history of Winterfell and the North.” Mother replies, then she adds. “I think I would have been myself more and just relaxed a little, had I thought that was the way to go. I hope you are being yourself Sansa.”

Sansa nods. “I am Mother, I promise.” At least she thinks she is. She’s not sure anymore.

Mother smiles and pats her hand. “Good, now go and get ready. We shall have breakfast soon.” Sansa nods and makes her way to her cupboard for her clothes.

* * *

 

**“Blood, it is the one thing that unites us all. Do you understand girl? We bleed, and the men take the credit for it.”**


	43. Shift

**“We thought we were building something that would change lives. We thought we were making a difference. Turns out we were just building something to fulfil Tywin’s ego. To ensure his pissing contest with Aerys and then Robert could continue. I felt disgusted when I learned about it. I quit and left. The time has come for me to get revenge on the man who abandoned the truth.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

Theon looks at his sister and uncle and then at the man standing at his side. “Asha, Victarion, this is Lann Lannister. He is a man who knows his way around the Rock, and he helped build many of the defences at Lannisport and the Rock.”

Lann Lannister has auburn hair and green eyes, he does not look like a normal Lannister nor does he talk like one. His voice is soft when he speaks. “Hello.”

Asha is the first one to speak. “You’re a Lannister? You look nothing like a Lannister.”

Theon expects Lann to be offended, but instead he merely laughs. “That is true. My father married someone from the Riverlands, and this is how I turned out.” A pause then Lann says. “So Lord Theon says you wish to move into the Rock. May I ask why?”

Victarion is the first one to reply. “You are here to tell us how to get in and out. Not to learn our plans.”

“I cannot tell you the best way to implement your plan if I do not know what it is.” Lann replies courteously.

Victarion glares at him, then. “I will not tell a Lannister our plans nephew. If he tells his family what we are planning here, we are all dead.”

Theon goes to speak, to reassure his uncle, but before he can, Lann speaks. “I have not spoken to my family in a decade. I will not be telling them anything.” A pause, then Theon feels Lann’s eyes on him. “Now what are you planning on doing?”

Theon shoots his uncle a glare, he is getting very tired of listening to the man complain. He turns back to Lann and says. “We are planning on doing a two way raid. First into Lannisport where we shall burn the ships of the Lannister fleet and travel inward, before moving out and raiding into the base of the mountain of the Rock.”

“What do you hope to gain by simply hitting the fleet and moving?” Lann asks. “The good stuff is all inside.”

Theon hesitates for a moment and then asks. “The channel inside the Rock, how strong is it?”

Lann takes a moment to respond, and when he does, his voice is strong. “It is quite strong. Strong enough to carry you toward the first basin. Inside the first basin, you have three rudimentary guard systems, and once you get passed the third guard, there is a treasure chest. It is a trap, meant to warn the castle of invaders. But first you will have to get passed the systems. And that is no easy feat.”

“Why?” Theon asks cautiously.

“The guard systems in the first basin, include a moveable boulder that will follow you until it is destroyed. A archer who never fails, and a lion that breathes fire.” Lann responds.

Theon looks at the man incredulously. “Are you being serious?” he asks.

“Yes. They were all designed during the reign of Aerys the Mad.” Lann responds. “I should know, I built them.”

Theon nods he knows this, and as he expects, Asha asks. “Well? How do we beat them then?”

Lann is silent for a long moment, his eyes seemingly lost in thought, then he says. “There is a code to get in, that nullifies them. But it changes every day, and only Tywin knows what the code is. Though knowing him and his memory it will be something he will be able to remember easily. When are, you planning on attacking the Rock?”

Once more Theon hesitates, he has not got a clear plan mapped out in his head, but eventually he says. “We are planning on leaving here within a day or two.”

“That means you will get to Lannisport roughly around the time of the new year. Perfect. That makes it much easier.” Lann states.

“How so?” Asha asks then.

“Because it means that Tywin would have had his wife’s name as the code to stop the systems. More people will know it and get in. we can sneak in and out.” Lann responds.

“What about the other systems? You said that was the first guard system, how many are there?” Asha asks once more.

Lann takes a moment to respond, his brow furrowed. “Depends how far you want to go in.”

“If we wanted to get to the heart of the mountain without alerting them that we were there?” Theon asks.

“You want to go into the heart of the mountain and do what?” Lann asks.

“Take the crown of the lion Kings.” Theon responds.

Lann whistles then. “Then we are going to have to plan more thoroughly.”

“Why? What is so different about getting into the heart of the mountain than the mere tip of it?” Theon asks probingly.

“Is that an honest question?” Lann asks. “The heart of the mountain is where some of the rarest and truest treasures of the Rock are kept. They will be heavily guarded and there are things there that not even I know to deal with.”

“So are you telling me that there are things about this you do not know?” Victarion demands.

“Yes. I built the systems for the first three basins. But not the last few. Tywin handled those himself.” Lann responds.

“And what would be so different about them, compared to what you had?” Asha asks.

Lann sighs, his shoulders slump, and Theon gets the impression the news is not going to be very good. “He used warlocks to make the inner defences. Then he killed them all. Only he knows how to get past the guards.”

 

**“Insanity.”**


	44. Smash and Grab

**“Hearts beat in time to the sound of the drums. Men chat to themselves, desperate not to show weakness. To show weakness is to have yourself questioned. To have yourself questioned is to lose purpose, to lose face. To lose face, is to be cast into dishonour. Shame on your family, and your parents. That is a crime worse than anything else. When one is shamed, one can never return. The depths of the seven hells will open. That is the fate that awaits boys as they march to war.”**

* * *

 

**Brandon Stark**

They were on horses that seemed more accustomed to war than Bran was. Well he supposed that was only to be expected, he had never ridden to war, this horse had been his uncle Brandon’s, and had been ridden in the field against rebellious tribes. It was his now, and had been for a year. They were working together, and the horse was keeping Bran calm. His nerves were all over the place, if he thought about them for too long, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay straight. He kept his head down and allowed the horse to do the work, guiding them toward the field. They were going to be fighting today, they had more men than anyone else out there, but it was still nerve wracking. Father was at the head of the army, commanding with great dignity. Bran was most definitely in awe of his father now.

They pass a great trench, made of mud and bone. He shudders at the sight, but keeps his head focused on the task at hand. They will need to move as quickly as possible. The Freys are in the Twins, making their plans. The weapons of siege warfare trundle with them, preparing for the assault to come. This is not what was mentioned in the songs. But as he is quickly learning, life is not like a song. In it a song, he’d have fallen in love with a beautiful maiden, not a Prince. It was all so very strange, he had Tommen’s favour attached to his armour, and he wore it every time. They were moving quickly now. The horse galloping, to keep up with the rest. Drums were pounding somewhere, distant. The Freys were celebrating their victory, already. Convinced they had won. Robb and Jon and the northern army should be somewhere close at hand, on the northern side. Preparing for the assault. They find themselves stopping. Father is there, Summer also. They stand and watch, as the weapons begin their work. The northern army is battering north, they batter south. They watch as the castle defences falter, to the great rocks and boulders they throw.

Bran watches spellbound as the rocks destroy battlements, the cries of enemy men echoing in the vast chamber that becomes the sky. He sees his Father murmuring something under his breath, neither of them wear helms just now, there is no need. They are a safe distance away from the rocks and the fighting, away from arrow range. Somewhere on the other side, the northern army is doing the same. The Twins looks as though it might well collapse soon enough. Leaving them with little to do but watch. Bran sees men fall down, or rather he sees the outline of men fall down, breaking themselves against the crush of power and press. It is a brutal sight, not something the songs mentioned either. It leaves him feeling hollow, this is not glorious, this is nothing like what he thought it would be. This is simply cold; this is cold and brutal. He hates it. He sees more rocks being thrown, more and more. The chaos continues. He sees it all, the stones fly and break, and men die. Eventually, Father raises a hand and the firing stops. Roughly at the same time, the same happens in the north. Father looks at him and nods, putting on his helm. Bran does the same. He watches Father move away, leading the race to the Twins. Bran waits a breath then does the same.

They ride forward, and find chaos all around them. The castle walls are broken in and caved. People are lying under rocks, bleeding, their guts on the floor. There are men somewhere else in the castle, trying desperately to fight their way out. Bran does not know where, he hears, but does not see them. His father is riding around barking commands, orders for what to do with any of those who are alive, where they are. Bran watches with a stunned sort of awe. This is war then. This is what war really is. Not frilly fights between good and bad, but between reason and ineptitude. He stops his horse, when he sees a woman her head is caved in, her brain is spilling out, and in her hands, oh gods! In her hands is a babe, the baby is black and blue, more guts than flesh. He sees this through his helm and closes his eyes. Summer moves towards the woman and her babe and sniffs briefly before whining and moving away. Bran watches as the rest of the army move around, looking and assessing, seeing who needs to be removed. Very few people are alive. They are all dead or dying. Bran feels lost. He does not know what to think or feel. This is not what he was thinking would happen, not at all.

He sees his Father move towards another room, and he goes to follow, but finds that there is someone, or several someones in his way. He shakes a little, he had not been expecting this to happen. He wants to ask them to move, but his voice has gone, his throat is dry, so very dry. He draws his sword, and waves it a little. That does nothing to them, the figures move closer. Summer leaps to his defence, bringing down one man, then another man. Bran finally moves, he swings his sword, and brings down one man, Summer killing the man before he can get back up. Then a woman comes toward him, with red hair, and he swings. The blade cuts through the woman. She moans and falls down, she does not get back up again. Shaken, Bran moves toward where his father is, wanting to escape.

* * *

 

**“Destruction of lives, that is what this is. Tyranny, and chaos.”**

 

 

 


	45. Women Warrior

**“For so long now we have sat in the shadows, watching as our so-called allies abandoned us to sit and sup with the Usurper. For so long now, we have watched and we have done nothing. I know my brother; I know how much this is eating at him. We must do something and soon. I fear we could be missing a chance here. There is so much we need to do. I fear we are not equipped for it. But we must move soon or we shall never have a chance.”**

* * *

 

**Princess Rhaenys Targaryen**

“Aegon has been gone for nearly two moons now. I have never known the fighting in the Disputed Lands to last for this long. Perhaps it is because of the fall of Braavos, the financial incentive to end early has been removed.” Rhaenys says calmly, allowing the sound of the waves lapping against the walls to ease her.

“Perhaps there has been some development with the other free cities? That could be why Aegon is taking so long to come back?” Daenerys replies. Her aunt has always been more optimistic than she has. Something about her innocence used to annoy Rhaenys when they were growing up, but now, now it is somewhat soothing.

“I do not know. Aegon did not seem as if he wanted to talk to anyone about a new deal. He seemed more driven to fight and kill, than anything else.” Rhaenys says, her mind flitting back to how her brother had looked before he had ridden out. Tense and preoccupied.

“Then I am not sure. I am sure he is fine though. Viserys is with him. As is Ser Arthur.” Daenerys says.

Lady Ashara speaks then, her words more reassuring than anything else that Rhaenys could have heard. “Wherever they are, I am sure they are safe. They would not want us to worry unnecessarily about them.” Lady Ashara had served as a mother to them all during their formative years, and now, though they were all grown up, they still relied on her advice. It was why Rhaenys was happy when she says. “We must discuss the word that has come from Braavos.”

Rhaenys nods, the letter had come from one of their allies within the former Iron Bank, and now they were sensing a chance. She sees Daenerys look at her questioningly, and so she says. “It seems that the Sealord of Braavos has fallen gravely ill, he is the one who has been working with the usurper’s men in Braavos. Most of the other Braavosi figures want the men gone from their shores. And as such, when the new election for Sealord is held, we could well see someone who is more inclined to our way of thinking.”

“You do not want to keep a hold of Braavos?” Dany asks curiously.

“I do not think it would make a good long term solution. Aegon agrees with me. Braavos has always been a good ally, to keep at arm’s length. The moment one gets involved in their internal affairs you lose sight of the true goal. And I think that is something the usurper did not take into account.” Rhaenys responds.

“So you think that the Braavosi will rebel when the Sealord dies?” her aunt asks.

Rhaenys glances at Ashara who speaks then. “I am of the opinion that they will choose a Sealord who is far more aggressive than the current Sealord. And when they do that, the usurper and his court will look to remove him. That will spark a war, and that is when we shall have our chance.”

“How so?” Daenerys asks, Rhaenys herself is still not entirely clear on this, but she listens as Ashara speaks.

“The Westerosi will be determined to subjugate Braavos completely this time. They will try to ensure that any who resist them are destroyed. That will require a lot of man power. And that will mean there will be parts of Westeros that are unguarded. We can take advantage of that. We know Dorne is on our side, and the word from the Reach suggests Tarly and Rowan are as well.” Ashara says.

Rhaenys nods, though she is sure there is something they are forgetting, recently that feeling has been growing. “I still feel that we need a fleet. The fleet of the Golden Company is not enough. We need someone with a big fleet. And that means we either need to take the royal fleet, or we need the Redwynes or Volantis. If we ask Volantis they will demand something from us, and I am not sure that will work well.”

“What could they demand from us? Would they even aid us? There are elephants in power in Volantis not tigers.” Daenerys points out.

“They would demand marriage alliances, and more than likely trade concessions. We cannot afford to give ourselves away to Essosi nobles. We must ensure we are available for Westerosi lords and ladies.” Rhaenys says.

She sees the way Dany looks at her and she knows her aunt is thinking of Viserys, but that is nothing more than a distraction. Her aunt asks softly. “Who are you considering?”

Rhaenys has thought long and hard about this, and that is why she says. “I believe we need to keep the Tyrells in Highgarden, they will bend to Aegon if he marries their daughter. Viserys shall be marrying Arianne. But as for us, well, there is a Stark heir, and the heir to the Riverlands as well to consider.”

“You would not consider the West or the Stormlands?” Daenerys asks.

“The Lannisters will be long dead by the time we are finished with them, as will the Baratheons. We cannot tie ourselves to two houses who betrayed their liege lord. We cannot offer them mercy.” An image of mother’s head caved in runs through her head, the image of saying goodbye to her as well, and the tears that were shed. She shakes her head and looks at Dany. “We shall take what is ours, and we shall do it over their bodies.”

* * *

 

**“I wonder how Viserys would act if he knew Rhaenys was already planning her marriage to some Westerosi boy.”**


	46. After The Battle

**“It is never, after a battle. You have the come down from the blood rush, the come down from the hype that you felt. Your senses are still buzzing; you are still filled with energy. But your body is slowly coming to grips. You are slowly realising that the fighting is over. You struggle to comprehend what has happened, what you have done, how many lives you have taken, how many orphans you have made. Some try and block it out, to keep living with sanity. Others do not.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

The camp they had built following the destruction of the Twins was bustling with activity. People were moving around, drinking, sharing stories, and trying to ignore the horrors they had seen. Ned, knew however, that he needed to talk to his sons, to understand what they were feeling. He remembered well his own experience of battle, the first taste he had ever had and the nightmares he had had. He did not want his sons to suffer through that. His sons are sat before him, they all bore the signs of the battle, scars, bruises, all things that would heal with time, apart from Bran. His second son looked as if he was living the nightmare over and over again. Ned speaks to him then. “How are you all feeling?”

“Tired.” Robb says, Jon voices his agreement.

“Bran?” Ned asks.

His second son looks at him then as if coming out of a dream. “I…I am well.”

Ned is not convinced, his son is avoiding making eye contact with any of them, he is staring at the ground, at his wolf, anywhere but at them. Ned was like that after his first taste of battle. That is why he asks his sons. “What did you see during the battle? When the rocks were being pelted, and thrown, what did you see? What did you feel?”

As always, it is Robb who speaks first. “I felt worried. There were rocks coming from both sides. I was worried that the rocks would hit us. Or that the catapults wouldn’t work. And then, then I was just awed.”

Ned had heard Brandon describe fighting the same way as well, it is why cautiously he asks. “And why were you awed?”

“There was so much happening. The rocks were flying and the walls were breaking, like they were made of nothing. It was intimidating.” Robb responds.

Jon speaks then. “I was worried. After the rocks stopped flying, when we went in, to fight. There was so much chaos. There were people everywhere. It was like there was no end in sight. It just kept going and going. A road with no end.”

Ned nods, he recognises everything his sons are saying, he has felt what they are feeling at one point or another. “Bran?” he asks.

His second son does not look at him, does not seem to hear, him mutters. “There was a lot of damage.” And Ned knows he will not get anything more from his son.

Ned feels his heart sink a little when he hears Robb ask. “What was it like for you the first time you fought in a battle?”

Distant memories echo in his head, the sound of swords clanging against one another, men screaming for loved ones who would never hear their cries, who would never know just how much they would be missed. He takes a breath, fighting to keep himself calm. “I was about your age; I was with my father and brother. We were fighting a tribe of clansmen who had gotten ideas above their station. We chased them high into the hills and then we fought. It was fierce and it was bloody.”

“How did you feel when you were fighting?” Jon asks, his eyes just like his mother’s, curious and pressing.

Ned takes a deep breath as he remembers how he felt, how his hands shook as he held his blade, as he saw men he had grown up with fall before the weapons of savages. “I was worried. I was scared, and I was afraid.”

“They never mention that in the songs.” Robb says then, as if anger has taken a hold of him. “They never mention the worry and the fear. Why is that?”

Ned had not expected that question; he knows the answer he gives is not satisfactory. “They do not want to ruin the image they are creating.”

“But I thought you said it was wrong to lie?” Jon asks, his voice sharp and piercing.

“It is.” Ned responds, knowing where this is going.

“So then why do you allow the singers to sing those lies?” Jon asks pointedly.

Ned takes a deep breath and says. “Because no one wishes to hear of the horrors that they witness. They only wish to remember the good, the times they performed feats of magic. Singers need to make a living, and women and children prefer the good to the bad. Do not tell me that you would have preferred the truth as a child, for then you would not have been a child, but a man who had nothing. And I did not want that for you.”

His sons both exchange looks of surprise, neither of them says anything for a long time, whilst Bran remains completely quiet, never having uttered a word. Eventually, Robb asks. “What will happen now? The Twins has been destroyed, but Ryman Frey is its lord.”

“Ryman Frey has taken a loan from the crown, he will rebuild the twins under instructions from the crown. The Twins will not be the fortress it once was, instead it will be a modest sized castle, whose construction and size shall be moderated by the crown. His heir shall be Petyr Frey.” Ned replies.

“And what do we do now?” Robb asks. “Do we go back north?”

“Yes. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, Benjen will need to return to the Wall.” Ned responds immediately. His sons nod, and Bran gets up and walks out of the tent without a word.

* * *

 

**“I cannot look. Every time I do, I see a ghost.”**


	47. This?

**“The ground will shake, the world will groan, and the question will be asked. Will you move this? Will you take this? Always give and take, there is never an equal relationship in our world. If there was, do you truly think it would last for long? This is the world we live in, the world we shall make and break, a thousand times over. It is the world we have. It is the world we love, and we hate. And now, the dice has been rolled.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

“How goes the reforming of the treasury? Are you handling alright?” Renly asks over a glass of cool summer wine.

Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden and the Reach, calculated thinker and all round nice guy laughs slightly. “It is difficult to understand the pattern Lord Wyman had developed, but I am managing yes. My men and his former aides are helping greatly in the process.”

“What is the most interesting thing you have found?” Renly asks. He had looked through the books himself after Wyman had died, and he’d not really understood what was there.

Willas, however, it seems understands better than him. “A lot of money was being brought in and actually going into the treasury. It sits there in the vaults underneath the keep, in locations both hard to find, and easy to read. This is different to Baelish.”

Renly nods. “And you think that the crown can afford the loan we are handing out to the Freys?” that had concerned him, in that action he had seen more of Robert in the King than he had seen before.

Willas seems hesitant to respond initially, but then he nods. “I think so, we are making a healthy return on the investments the crown has made recently, and with trade with the Free Cities picking up once more, the investment should not harm us.”

“Do you believe the Freys will be able to make their repayment for the loan? I know the King has discussed doing something to reduce their power, and building another bridge. If he does that though, I believe the chances of them being able to repay the loan will shrink quite massively. Would you agree?” Renly asks.

“Yes. The Freys make a lot of their money from the tolls they exact from traders going through their lands. And though the passage through White Harbour has opened up more recently, I think there is still something to say of keeping the toll.” Willas responds.

Curious as to why Willas thinks this, Renly asks. “How do you mean? The Freys purpose has slowly lessened, ever since the rebellion and the freeing up of trade between the north and the rest of the kingdoms. Why should they be allowed to keep their toll?”

“There are a lot of them my lord. Even though many died, there are still many of them. If you remove their toll, they will have a massively decreased source of income and will become more stuck in the infighting that so damaged them before. Keep the toll, they stand a chance.” Willas says.

Renly thinks over this, he can see the sense in it, he knows there is something brewing in Braavos, he is not a fool, he knows that situation would not die peacefully. They cannot really afford to keep things in Westeros uneven, so he nods and then asks. “How are you finding King’s Landing then Willas? Has it been to your liking?”

Willas chuckles softly. “It has been an interesting experience so far. The last time I was here, there was a dragon banner in every room, and dragon skulls decorated the walls. It is nice to see that the decorations of the rooms have improved. I have yet to make my way over to the library though, that is something I mean to do.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Renly asks. “You have been to the Library of Oldtown, have you not?”

“I have.” Willas says.

“Then how could the library here compare?” Renly asks confused.

At this Willas laughs. “Ah, you see, there are some things that the library of the Citadel do not stock as they do not agree with their views. Whilst the Library in King’s Landing is said to contain every book ever written. And so there are things that I wish to read there.”

Renly nods, and then decides to turn the conversation to the main reason he wanted Willas in King’s Landing to begin with. “Have you spoken to your father and grandmother?”

“I have.” Willas replies.

“And what have they had to say?” Renly asks, desperate to know.

“My father is all for the marriage. He believes it will give him the chance to step up and replace the Lannisters. Grandmother is more cautious. She remembers the last time a member of our family was to be married to a member of a royal family.” Willas responds.

“Joffrey is not Rhaegar, nor is he Aerys. He has more sense in him than they did.” Renly says, he knows that the man before him knows nothing of the little incidents that the King has been involved in, he has made sure of that.

“We know that. And yet Joffrey is a Baratheon, he is betrothed to Sansa Stark, and so far, from what I have seen he does not seem to have expressed any discontentment with the betrothal. Which leaves me wondering where our opening would come in?” Willas responds.

“The King has not yet seen Lady Margaery. I am sure that once he sees her, he will make up his mind. Lady Sansa is but a girl compared to Margaery, anyone could see that.” Renly points out.

Willas smirks a little. “Indeed, and yet we must be cautious here. There are some things we cannot count on too much.”

It takes Renly a moment to figure out what the man means, and then he sighs. “The Targaryens.”

“The Targaryens.” Willas agrees.

* * *

 

**“What is a crown to happiness? I do not know what the benefit of such a thing would be.”**


	48. Lion's Den

****

**“Our family has for so long functioned on the whims of Tywin Lannister. Every move he has made has been to further the family legacy. We are all nothing but pawns on a board he has made. A board made long ago. He uses us for the good of the family. I think he has forgotten that the pawns are people, and people have their own wants and desires. The time will soon come where he cannot make that move anymore. And when that time comes, I will be there to witness it.”**

* * *

 

**Ser Tyrion Lannister**

“It was a good decision to keep Ryman Frey as Lord of the Crossing. Now there can be no question as to who the lords of the realm need to rely on.” Tyrion says.

“Uncle Emmon would be more valuable as Lord of the Crossing. The man actually listens to what Aunt Genna says.” Cersei says.

“Aunt Genna does what Father asks of her. That is not what the throne needed.” Tyrion says. “The throne needs someone who is loyal to it, and to it alone. Ryman Frey is that man. He owes the King is place at the Twins. Emmon would owe father.”

“What is the difference. Father has helped ensure the security of the Kingdom for years.” Cersei says.

Tyrion sees the King’s face tighten in anger, and so he says. “There is a difference in that what Father wants, is not always the same as what the throne wants. Just look at what happened when he was Hand to the Mad King.”

“The kingdom was a peace.” Cersei snaps, her own anger showing through.

“The Kingdom was at peace because father bullied and bought lords off. He made sure that the lords of the realm did as he wanted them to do. He increased the power of the House Lannister, at the expense of the crown. And as such when Rhaegar Targaryen made a mistake, more people were willing to side with the house that Father wanted them to, than where they really should have done.” Tyrion states.

“You speak treason.” Cersei says.

Before Tyrion can respond, the King speaks. “No. He speaks the truth Mother.” Cersei looks at her son confused and surprised. The King continues. “The Crown was far too weak under the Mad King. Grandfather dictated terms and then did not like it when Aerys the Mad refused to bend to those terms. You think that had grandfather not planted those suggestions along the way, that the lords who fought for Father would have done so? They would have remained in their castles or fought for the Targaryens.”

“So what are you saying then? That Father is not part of the plan anymore?” Cersei asks.

“No.” Tyrion says after looking at his nephew. “What I am saying is that, Father can have his plans. But he will need to make sure that they are in line with what the Crown wants.”

He can tell that Cersei is not happy with that, no doubt she will at some point write to the Rock, and he will be getting a letter through that sharply reprimands him. After all, he has not actually been searching for a new wife, he’s been more concerned with ensuring Cersei and Jaime do not do anything stupid. Even with Baelish dead, there are still too many things hanging over them. He looks at the King and says. “Your Grace, I have had word from our men in Braavos. The current Sealord is on his deathbed, soon enough there will be a new election, and it seems that the man they seek to elect, will want war.”

The King does not seem surprised, but then again, the boy has gotten better at disguising his emotions. “Do you think they have the capability to revolt? We have taken their stocks quite hard.”

Tyrion considers the question, he knows that the Braavosi have something in their arsenal, something that Westeros lacks and always has been lacking. What that thing is he does not know, but he knows even without their naval power, they have financial power. He takes a breath, then says. “I think they will use whatever means of gathering financial resources to ensure they have the strength to rebel. And when they do, they will target those of our friends and the Westerosi that are there.”

“Then we must act and act soon.” The King says.

“Indeed Sire. And yet we cannot take too hasty an action, for doing that would give them the excuse they are seeking. Right now, they are merely going by keeping their ear to the ground. If we make a move now, they will have their excuse and there will be chaos.” Tyrion says.

“So do you suggest then, that we simply keep ourselves here and allow them to find the thing to revolt over?” The King asks.

“Because that will not look the King look bad at all.” Cersei quips.

Tyrion rolls his eyes; he’s getting very tired of having to put up with Cersei’s shit right now. “I am suggesting that you give them no reason to even think about rebelling Sire. I am suggesting that you ensure that they see you as their benefactor and their saviour. Keep them on the good side and they will remain firm. And the Sealord whoever is chosen will not get the chance to use you for a game.”

The King nods. Then asks. “And what do you make of the Tyrell ploy to bring Margaery Tyrell here? It is as if they do not think I have eyes. I know what they want, but the question is do I give it to them?”

“The Tyrells are nothing but ambitious schemers, they do not deserve to be given attention.” Cersei says almost immediately.

Tyrion snorts. “It is exactly because they are ambitious schemers that they deserve attention. The time has come I think, for us to discuss, really discuss who it is you wish to marry. Marrying Margaery Tyrell would bring wealth into the crown like nothing we have seen before, and give the crown a chance to own parts of the Reach. Whilst marrying Sansa Stark keeps the north happy, but offers little else. The decision, is entirely yours Sire.”

The King seems uncertain, and so Tyrion is not surprised when he says. “I will ask Lady Margaery to come to court and I shall see from there.”

* * *

 

**“A Tyrell? They will not have my son; over my body will they have him.”**


	49. Lady Luck

****

**“The Queen Dowager is like a snake. She comes up only when she wants something, and if she thinks you have it, she will appear and ask you and lure you into some sense of security. But if she thinks you useless she will not even look at you. Such is the way these things go. I do not want my daughters anywhere near her. But I fear that if the marriage to the King goes ahead, Sansa will be. For how can the King say no to his mother, the woman who gave him life?”**

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

“How are you feeling Ned?” Catelyn asks, her husband is slumped in a chair, looking absolutely drained.

His words are slow. “I am well my love. Tired. I never thought dealing with one family could be so much work.”

Catelyn laughs softly at that. “The Freys have always been known to be hard work my love. It is what they do. It is how they make their living.”

“So the toll is just an elaborate excuse? Why am I not surprised.” Her husband quips causing her to laugh.

“But seriously, how are you feeling Ned? I know that riding to battle is not something you like doing.” Catelyn says, knowing as she does that her husband has never liked having to ride off for anything other than a visit, but he does so anyway, for his duty.

Ned straightens up then. “I am fine my love, truly. There was more work done by the siege engines than by myself or the men. The Freys who were within the Twins died or were wounded. And Edwyn Frey bent the knee only to die later on. I was more concerned about our sons.”

Hesitantly, Catelyn asks. “How did they find it?”

“Robb and Jon seemed to have dealt with most of their demons. They spoke about it openly when I asked them how they found it. But Bran, I do not know. He reminds me of me when I was his age. He had a look in his eye. He seemed haunted by it all. Perhaps it was a mistake to take him on the journey.” Ned responds.

Catelyn bites her lip then, she has not seen as much of Bran as she would have liked to, having been busy trying to ensure Sansa has the best possible care available, and with keeping an eye on Arya, even before the business at the Twins she had left Bran to his own devices. “I can speak to him if you think that would be appropriate?”

Ned sighs. “I do not know. I think that if he is ready to talk, he will talk. Otherwise it will be like trying to get blood from a stone. I do not know whether it would do any good.”

“It isn’t healthy for him to keep it all inside of him though Ned. Surely you must see that. He is but a boy. He needs to talk to someone.” Catelyn says.

Her husband nods. “I know Cat. If you feel like talking to him will do some good, then do so. But I am not sure how receptive he will be.”

Catelyn nods, she knows that that is a risk, but she knows as well that unless she tries to talk to her son, she risks losing him, and that is something she is not willing to allow. Taking a breath, she then brings up something she has been meaning to say beforehand. “Sansa had her first bleed a few weeks ago my love.”

Her husband straightens up then. “She is okay?” he asks.

“She is fine Ned. She came to me to ask me for help, and I have been helping her as best as I can. She is a little nervous though.” Catelyn says.

“Why?” her husband asks.

“Because she has flowered now, and thinks that she and the King will be married soon.” Catelyn says.

“Gods, she’s only a girl still. You and I were adults when we were married. She does not need to marry him so soon.” Ned says.

Catelyn nods. “We both know that, and I think on some level she does as well. But Ned, you have to know that the Queen has been speaking to her. Always in my presence, but she has been dropping hints as to what she thinks Sansa should do. And she wants this marriage to happen as soon as possible. I think it is to stop her son marrying a Tyrell.”

Ned inhales sharply then, giving away his surprise. “He would break his betrothal?”

“I do not think the King would no. But his councillors are pushing for him to marry the Tyrell girl. She is coming to court, and will be here soon enough. I think they want him to marry her, to prevent the girl marrying someone else.” Catelyn responds.

Ned runs a hand through his hair. “The Targaryen boy. Of course, It always comes back to them.”

Catelyn takes her husband’s hand then and asks. “What do you want to do? We cannot prevent the Queen from speaking to Sansa, but we cannot allow her to continue to sow this doubt in Sansa’s mind.”

Her husband looks quite thoughtful then. “I think we need to speak to Sansa ourselves. See what she wants to do, and talk to her about what is and isn’t possible. Once that is done, we can see what the King does.”

“Do you think he will move toward the Tyrell girl?” Catelyn asks, barely able to keep her own nervousness at bay.

Ned sighs. “I do not know Cat. I think he will do the reasonable thing. But we cannot be sure. We shall have to play it carefully.” Catelyn nods and they fall to silence for a time, before going to bed, sleep when it does come, is blissful and easier with Ned with her.

* * *

 

**“Like little mice they scamper through. Like little mice they see all and hear all. The secrets of the lords and ladies. We shall have our army soon enough. Oh, yes, soon enough we shall have it all. As they scamper past, and work through to their destruction.”**


	50. Break Back

**“The lines are being drawn. Soon enough the time will be ripe. We shall venture forward from the night into the home of the true and the brave. There will be little the false King can do, little that anyone can do. We shall make our move, and we shall ensure that it will not stop. The purge shall be done, and when it is finished all shall bow before those who they once shunned. For this, this is the time of the sun and spear.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Doran Martell**

“The people are growing restless brother. They need to know how and when this will happen.” Oberyn says.

Doran sighs. “It will happen soon. The people must have patience.”

“How much patience must they have. It has been sixteen years since last we had a chance, I do not know how much longer I can take it myself, let alone the people.” Oberyn responds.

Doran looks at his brother, and he sees the lines of old age approaching, resigned he says. “First, we must make sure that our own house is in order. Quentyn has assured me that the Yronwoods are remaining loyal, as are their allies. Yet there is something happening there that I am not too sure about. The presence of a Lannister envoy in their homes is worrying.”

Oberyn stiffens, his eyes widen. “Do you think that the Yronwoods will convert? I had thought the promise of a marriage between Quentyn and Yronwood’s daughter would sort that out?”

“Yronwood is an ambitious man. He wants more power, and as such I think the current system does not benefit him. He wants more and more, and as his wife is chomping at his heels, he will want more. I think he will pressurise Quentyn into giving him more.” Doran says.

“And you have told Yronwood where to go?” Oberyn asks.

“Yes, many times. Still the man persists in ensuring that his house is followed to the core.” Doran replies. “Still, Yronwood’s daughter is more malleable toward ensuring our own aims are met. Furthermore, our friend in the capital tells us that the Lannisters are looking toward reducing Tywin Lannister’s power over them. I sense an opportunity right there.”

“A potential cause for civil war?” Oberyn asks intrigued.

“Yes.” Doran says. “But we must play it carefully otherwise there will be trouble within our own lands.”

Oberyn nods, and Arianne speaks. “Why not simply ask for Quentyn to come back home? If there is a risk that the Yronwoods will use him against us, why not simply bring him home?”

“Because then there would be a risk of unnerving the Yronwoods.” Doran replies, wishing not for the first time that he had actually taught Arianne more about the inner workings of the game, before looking into secrecy. “The Yronwoods are a powerful house, and have a long history of rebelling against those they consider unworthy. They will do something similar if we act now. Quentyn must be allowed time to test himself and his own skills. Otherwise we shall have a man who has no gain.”

“And what of the Targaryens? We have not heard anything from them since they left for Disputed Lands. I worry that perhaps they might not be considering this seriously.” Arianne responds.

“I would disagree.” Doran says. “I think they are merely ensuring that their options are secure. They are doing what any sane person in exile would do. They are covering their bases. We have not had any word that Prince Viserys will not marry you. Indeed, everything we have heard is that he will most definitely marry you.”

“But if Prince Aegon is going to take the throne, do we really need to have a marriage between myself and Prince Viserys?” Arianne asks. “After all, Prince Aegon is my cousin, he is your nephew, surely that guarantees us a place at the table?”

Doran sighs. “In politics just like with life there is no guarantee of anything. Aegon might be my nephew, but he has been raised in exile, by a man who did not like Elia, and a man who forswore his vows to the Kingsguard to help Prince Rhaegar abscond with someone. His views might be skewed. Whether or not Lady Ashara has helped shape him into a person of repute.”

“Do you not trust Lord Connington, then father?” Arianne asks.

Doran considers the question, drawing on his memories of Jon Connington, Doran remembers a man who was always eager to do Rhaegar’s bidding, a man who was always there whispering in Rhaegar’s ear, and if Elia was speaking the truth, the man who convinced Rhaegar to abscond with Lyanna. “It is not that I do not trust him. It is that I do not trust his intentions towards us and toward the Prince. The man was half in love with Prince Rhaegar when the man was alive. He will not see Prince Aegon for who he truly is. And that, that can be very dangerous.”

“Do you think then that we shall need to push hard for a place at the table?” Arianne asks.

“I think we will need to destroy most of our enemies before the field of battle is even a thing. The Tyrells will need to be handled appropriately. They have more power than I think they know what to do with.” Oberyn says.

“So then, what needs to be done there?” Arianne asks.

“We must make them see that the dragons are the ones who will give them what they want, not the Baratheons. If they do not see that, then they shall need to be removed. We cannot afford to have an enemy on our northern border, we must make sure someone who is of a good temperament is there.” Doran says.

* * *

 

**“The words are written; the ink is dry. The time for lies is ending, and the time for truth is nigh. I believe, as many have before me, that the world is slowly reaching its ending point. And when it ends, we shall survive and thrive.”**


	51. A Prince Of The Green

****

**“In days of old, to take the green meant you were representing the ideal of chivalry and the seven. When the Faith Militant revolted against the crown, they took the green. When Maegor the Cruel and his knights fought them, they also took the green. It seems now that the green has become associated with the Reach. But that was not always the case. The time is fast approaching, where we shall need to take up the green once more, to ensure that the world retains order. That the corruption of the Usurper does not damage, what was once pure.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

“Lys and Myr have agreed to support me. They have promised me money and troops to come to the cause. I know that traditionally you have not sought to side with them, but with Braavos now belonging to the usurper and his get, I think the time has come for Norvos to stake a place in the world once more.” Aegon says, his voice filled with confidence.

Magister Melaquo, one of the leading magisters in the city speaks then. “Norvos has never engaged in fighting since the days of Qarlon the Great. We have never needed to. Why would we change that position now?”

Aegon has been expecting such a question, that is why he responds. “Norvos now stands to lose more by not fighting, than it has ever faced before. Braavos is under the usurper’s thumb. Whatever he wants they will give. Norvos stands to lose out massively if you do not fight beside me.”

“But your ascension to the throne is not guaranteed. How do we know that we would be making a good investment?” Melaquo asks.

Aegon looks over at Viserys who nods. “We have more allies in Westeros than one might think. Dorne has promised its soldiers, as have many houses within the Reach and the crownlands. We have the capability for more. We need your investment though. Norvos has a lot to offer Westeros in terms of trade. It is not right that they have been so ignored.”

Magister Melaquo seems impressed by what he has to say, his voice is even when he says. “You speak honeyed words my Prince. Our own sources say that what you have said is true. There are those within Westeros who would rise for you. But we have one question.”

“And what is that?” Aegon asks, though he thinks he knows what it will be.

“Tywin Lannister is still alive. As long as he lives, the Baratheons will remain secure on their throne. On your throne. How will you deal with him?” Melaquo asks.

Aegon considers the question put before him, he has a plan, he has always had a plan, whether or not it succeeds is something that he has been concerned about for some time though. He looks at the man and replies. “A man who knows the Westerlands and Casterly Rock as well as Lord Tywin himself has set sail with an allied force under the command of someone I trust. They are making their way toward the Rock as we speak. When they reach the Rock Tywin Lannister shall be destroyed. And his house shall fall.”

The question of who this man is, and who their ally is does not come, and for that Aegon is relieved. Instead Melaquo simply says. “Very well, if you would give us a few moments, we shall need to consult with the Bearded Priests and then we shall let you know. You may wait here.” The man and his friends stand up and walk out of one of the doors, closing it and leaving them in silence.

As they wait, Aegon hears Viserys shift slightly in his chair. His voice is soft when he speaks. “Do you think they will acquiesce? Especially given their rivalry with Lys?” his uncle asks.

“Everything I’ve ever read about them suggests that Norvos will not want to miss out on this chance.” Aegon says.

“I’ve never understood why they have magisters if it is the bearded priests who run everything.” Viserys says then.

“To give the illusion that they are truly a free city. Something Braavos forced them to do after the century of blood I believe.” Aegon responds.

“You do know that we’re going to have to handle the Faith, when this is all said and done. With all these different people mingling around us.” Viserys points out.

Aegon nods, he takes a deep drink of his wine and then puts the cup down. “I know. I think that is where we might benefit from having someone on our side in the Faith. As of yet, I do not know who that could be. The Faith has become so very corrupt; it seems hard to find someone who will not just move at the first offer.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Viserys asks.

“I do not want someone who will knife me in the back at the first sign of gold. I need someone who will remain loyal because they believe in what needs to be done.” Aegon responds.

“I think such a person will be very hard to find in Westeros, Aegon. The realm lost its honour when the Kingslayer killed father.” Viserys says.

It is on that solemn note that the doors open and the Magister and his men walk into the room once more. This time, they are accompanied by three Bearded Priests, all of whom are tall and muscular. “It has been decided.” The Magister says solemnly. “The Priests have spoken. They will aide you in your quest to claim your throne Prince Aegon. On one condition. That you allow them to invest you as the King.”

“As King of Westeros?” Aegon asks, a rebuttal forming on his tongue.

“No. As King of Andalos.” The magister replies.

An image comes before him then, of him dressed in splendour, the crown of Hugor Hill on his brow, the crowds cheering. He feels the pull of it all and he has little hesitation in saying. “Yes.”

* * *

 

**“The green has returned. The purple is next. The dragon has awoken.”**


	52. Hurry, The Killer Comes

****

**“Betrothals. They are a age old concept, one that does much to ensure political stability. In ages past, there were marriages between Lord Paramounts and their banner men, this was done to ensure that the lords remained firm and true to their liege lords. Then when the powers of the Dragon Kings began to wane, the Lord Paramounts began looking elsewhere for marriages. I believe the King Aegon was one of the first to realise this. But his children were stubborn and treasonous. And so the dynasty fell.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

“Stannis remains in a cell in the dungeons Your Grace. A decision must be made as to what will be done with him. The New Year celebrations are four moons gone, the time is fast approaching for a decision to be reached.” Ned says, knowing that the King is not often disposed to discussing his uncle.

As he expects, the King sighs. “I know my lord. And yet there are things that hold my hands behind my back.”

“And what are those Sire?” Ned asks, he knows it is essential they deal with Stannis before they decide what to do with Braavos, the reports coming from the Titan’s City are worrying.

“The fact he is indeed my uncle. I cannot have a member of the blood killed. Regardless of his own crimes, he is still family. I would not become a kinslayer simply to ensure my mother and council sleep well at night.” The King says.

“No one is asking you to have him killed Sire. The Night’s Watch is a perfectly reasonable way for Stannis to repent of his crimes and do some good as well. The Watch is always in need of good men.” Ned points out.

“And how would he get to the Wall? He would need to travel by sea, which could mean someone attacks his ship and does the deeds themselves, or he could travel by land, at which point he is beyond our control.” The King responds.

“What makes you think he would be out of our control Sire? If we are the ones who set his guard, who set the rate at which he leaves from the capital, he would still be within our control.” Ned states, starting to wonder just how badly the King has been handling this, and why this is the first time he is seeing this.

The King is silent, his mouth shut tight, as if he is considering everything that has been and could be said. Eventually, he speaks, his words curt. “Very well. If you think that is the best thing to do. Organise a decent sized escort, and send him to the Wall. Should he die on the way, or be taken, it will be on your head.”

“Yes Your Grace.” Ned responds. He waits for that to pass, then asks. “Sire, do you intend to keep your betrothal to my daughter?” he knows he probably could have asked the question in a different manner, but he has found that he prefers speaking straight.

The King does not seem surprised by this. “I have been thinking over it my lord. I like Lady Sansa, she is nice and kind. But I am unsure of whether she would be able to handle the burden of being my wife.”

Surprised, Ned asks. “What do you mean Sire?” then he adds. “She has from birth been taught how to be a lady, how to manage a household, and how to charm guests. What more is there for a Queen to be?”

The King looks at him as if he has grown a second head. “So much more.” Ned is surprised by that. “My Mother helped organise many things that is true, she helped raise myself and my siblings, and she helped manage the household. But she also helped my Father when it came time for politics. The Royal Couple must be compatible in that regard. King Aerys and Queen Rhaella worked so very well for so long because they worked well politically. It was when Aerys decided to throw his wife under, that he and his dynasty fell. I have spoken to Sansa about a variety of things. If it does not involve a song or a dance, she does not know what to do. Tell me my lord, how am I to make her a Good Queen if she does not have the basic knowledge needed to be one?”

Ned feels a tinge of anger at the King’s words, but before he replies, he thinks on it. He thinks on what Sansa knows, he thinks on how she acts. She acts like a good lady, but not a Queen. Because they never thought she would be made Queen, a lady of a great lord, certainly, but not a Queen. As he realises that, he realises that the King is right, in that moment, he thinks he has found his greatest failing. “Could she not learn?” he asks softly. He does not want to break his little girl’s heart, and he knows that telling her this would break her heart.

“Who would teach her my lord? My Mother or your Wife? I know that neither of them get along. And I know that you do not like my Mother. So, who will teach her?” the King asks.

Ned feels at a loss, he stares into the nothingness, wondering if his desire to find out who killed Jon Arryn blinded him to the reality of what had happened under his very nose. His daughter is betrothed to the King, but she does not know how to be a Queen. She knows how to be a Great Lady, but being a Great Lady and being Queen are two different things. He runs a hand through his hair and asks. “Is that why Lady Margaery is here?”

“Lady Margaery is here because Ser Willas asked if his sister could come to court. Whatever else she symbolises is irrelevant. Tell me, my lord, do you want your daughter to be Queen?” the King asks.

Ned thinks on this question, and realises that he has never really thought about it. He merely assumed, because Robert had demanded it. He had never stopped to think and question. “I…I…I do not know.” He replies honestly.

The King nods and says. “Think on it. We have time yet. Just because Sansa has had her first bleeding does not mean that she is ready to marry yet. There is time. If you want it, use it.”

* * *

 

**“Perhaps now Stark will see sense.”**


	53. Something In The Way She Moves

**“I have never understood this obsession my Father had with the Starks. They are not an extraordinary people, unlike how he would describe them. They are people like anyone else. They have their good moments and they have their bad. Sometimes, I do think that they are merely a family he put up on a pedestal, because he did not know how to handle the fact his own family was lacking. That is a mistake I will not make. I will not throw a burden at a girl who was never prepared for it. I am not my Father, and Lady Sansa is not Lyanna Stark. This ends with us.”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

“Tell me Lady Margaery, what was it like growing up in Highgarden? I have heard that it was quite bountiful, and that there was always a singer at hand. Is that true?” Joffrey asks, walking arm in arm with Lady Margaery, two knights of the Kingsguard trailing behind them.

“Oh there was always something happening at Highgarden. The place was always filled with activity. My father preferred it that way. And I find that activity is good for the mind.” Lady Margaery replies.

“An interesting view. Tell me, how does King’s Landing compare to Highgarden?” he asks sincerely.

Lady Margaery laughs a little. “Oh come now Sire, surely that is an unfair question. I have been here for only a few days. Not nearly ample enough time to compare the two.”

Joffrey smiles. “I suppose I am being a little unfair there. But tell me, truly, how have you found the capital so far? I know it can be a bit of a shock when compared to other places.”

“I find it interesting. There is so much going on here, and so little happening at the same time. It is something that I think deserves more exploration.” Lady Margaery replies.

In her response, Joffrey finds something that he has not found in Lady Sansa. Someone who is a keen observer and someone who knows how to go looking for the things she wants. Lady Sansa, whilst nice, always needs someone to explain things to her. “I’m going to ask you a question now my lady, and I want you to answer me honestly.”

“Okay Your Grace.” Lady Margaery replies.

Joffrey thinks over the question he wants to ask, and then he says. “Your brother Ser Willas has been good friends with Prince Oberyn for many years now, and I know you have met with the man many times yourself. I want you to tell me truly, how would you handle Prince Oberyn?”

Lady Margaery takes a moment to consider his question, and when she replies, her response surprises him. “I would deal with his brother first.”

Out of curiosity, Joffrey finds himself asking. “And why is that?”

“Prince Oberyn is a wild and untameable man, it is true. But when it comes to his family and to Dorne, he always listens to his older brother, Prince Doran. The man knows exactly how to handle Prince Oberyn. And if you want to make sure Dorne is not a threat, you would deal with Prince Doran first and foremost.” Lady Margaery replies.

Intrigued, Joffrey asks. “And how would you convince a man who has had nothing to do with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms since his sister was murdered, that he should be content with remaining under the Baratheon regime, instead of shifting to the Targaryen one?” He has heard rumours about Dorne and the Targaryens, but that is for another time.

“I would tell him that the Targaryens have only ever used him and his family. They have never truly valued them. They were always just a thing to be used to throw away when better options came around.” Lady Margaery.

“The Blackfyre rebellions were in part because the Targaryens were thought to value them too highly over others. They have gained privileges that no other house has ever gained before. They are still called Princes and Princesses of Dorne. Titles they do not deserve with how much they have contributed to the Seven Kingdoms. Surely if Doran Martell wants to have his kingdom and house taken seriously he will do something worthy of that?” Joffrey asks, voicing a frustration that he has been feeling for some time.

They stop next to a bench in the garden and sit down. Lady Margaery looks at him, and he feels heat begin to grow inside of him. “You raise a valid point Your Grace, but Dorne has always been a special case. They humiliated the Targaryens when they had dragons, something no other kingdom did. They need to be treated in a way that reminds them of their position, but also of their importance.”

“And how would you advise that I do that?” Joffrey asks.

“Your uncle has Armory Lorch here, the man who played a part in killing Princess Elia. Your grandsire has always hide Gregor Clegane. Bring them to trial, order them to defend themselves before the Dornish, and make the Dornish see you value their opinion. Provide them with reason to believe you, and they will.” Lady Margaery responds.

Joffrey considers this and then says. “A smart suggestion and one my grandfather cannot refuse if he wants to retain his place here.” A pause and then he asks. “And what would you do about the Vale? A Kingdom that is important to my throne, but one where the Lady has refused herself.”

“Replace her.” Lady Margaery says instantly. “She is dangerous and unstable. She cannot be trusted. Remove her and make sure someone takes over that knows what you want and how you want it done.”

Joffrey nods. “Thank you.” Then he asks. “Might I ask a small favour of you?”

“Of course Sire.” Lady Margaery responds.

“When it is just the two of us, please call me Joffrey.” Joffrey says.

Lady Margaery smiles, and Joffrey feels his heart quicken. “Of course, but only if you call me Margaery.”

Joffrey smiles in response. “Well, Margaery, shall we return to the keep?”

“I think we should Joffrey.” Margaery responds.

They stand up, and arm in arm they walk back to the Red Keep, Joffrey feels that his decision has been made much easier.

* * *

 

**“The Tyrell girl is a shrew, she will not do anything without having an ulterior motive.”**


	54. Questions 2

****

**“I know my Father wanted me to be considered for a royal match once. But I never saw much benefit in it. I was always more concerned with being a lady than a political figure, though I soon learned how to play. But it was too late by then. By then the King had looked elsewhere, and I was left behind. Behind in a manner I did not know what to do about.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

“Ned, you look concerned, what is troubling you my love?” Catelyn asks.

Her husband sighs, his shoulders slump. “I’m just thinking about what the King said when we last spoke. It’s been gnawing at me since then.”

Intrigued, Catelyn asks. “What did the King say?”

Her husband sighs once more. “He said that Sansa was not ready to be Queen, and that he thought she never would be ready to be Queen.”

Surprised, Catelyn asks. “What made him say that?”

“He says that Sansa is very much prepared to be a lady, but there is an element of the politics and the scheming that Queens need to do, that she is not ready for, and that he does not think she has enough time to learn.” Ned responds.

Catelyn wants to protest this, but she knows that it is true. They never thought Sansa would be Queen, and perhaps looking back on it now, that was incredibly naïve of them, Robert would always want a fulfilment of the marriage pact. She looks at her husband and says. “He’s not too wrong you know. We only ever expected her to be a great lady, not a Queen. We did not train her for that.”

“And I am not willing to let her be trained by Cersei.” Ned says.

Catelyn nods in agreement. “Of course not. If we gave her over to Cersei, she would not be the same person she is now. But then, what does this mean? Will the King break the betrothal?”

She sees her husband run a hand through his beard. “I think he is considering it. The Tyrell girl has appeared a more appealing prospect to him.”

“So what do we tell Sansa? She has fallen in love with the idea of being Queen and of marrying Joffrey. Telling her this, will break her heart.” Catelyn points out.

“I know Cat, but I do not see how we can go about telling her this, without lying to her. And I will not lie to her.” Ned says.

Catelyn nods, she knows her husband, she knows he does not like lying, finds it a grievous sin, and so she says. “Well we have some time to think about it do we not? When does, the King want your answer by?”

“As soon as possible.” Ned responds. “The New Year celebrations are over, I think he wants this done and dusted, so he can focus on Braavos.”

“Do you want Sansa and Arya to remain here once the betrothal is broken?” Catelyn asks then, broaching a concern she has had for some time.

“I would think so yes. They will learn more here, than remaining in the north.” Ned says firmly.

Catelyn knows he is thinking of his own sister, and the events that led to her death. Determined to change the topic she says. “I saw Arya at her sword training today. She is getting much better. It seems that her balance is improving, though I am not sure I approve of her being sent all over the Red Keep chasing cats.”

Ned laughs then. “Ah, well that is good at least. I am sure the cats, is just an eccentricity of Syrio.”

“She really does enjoy those dancing lessons. I do wonder if perhaps we made a mistake by putting her under Mordane’s care for all those years.” There had been times when she wondered how Mordane was failing, and then she realised that perhaps Arya was just never going to want to be one of those ladies.

“I think we did what we needed to do. Now she is enjoying her time here, and as such I see no problem with that.” Her husband says. He pauses and then asks. “Have you managed to speak with Bran yet my love?

Catelyn’s heart sinks then. “No. Unfortunately not. I keep trying to ask him to talk, but he keeps rejecting my attempts. He spends more time with Prince Tommen than he does here. Do you think we might have done something wrong?”

Ned raises an eyebrow at her and asks. “What could we have done wrong?”

“I do not know. But I am worried about him. He is keeping something hidden from us. And I can tell it is eating away at him. Perhaps we would be served by asking someone to speak to him? Perhaps Sansa? She always was able to get him to talk.” Catelyn says.

Ned looks as if he might approve of the idea, but then he shakes his head. “I do not think that would be a good idea. I think we need to give Bran some time and space, and allow him to speak when he wants to speak.”

“And if that means he continues to push down everything he’s been feeling? You, yourself have said how you wished you could have spoken to your father after your first taste of battle. Do you not think that we should give Bran that option?” Catelyn presses.

“We are giving him that chance. There is nothing more for us to do. If he wants to talk, he will talk. If he does not want to talk, he will not talk. We cannot force him.” Ned responds firmly.

Catelyn nods, she is not sure she agrees completely, but then she decides, that it is better to agree than not to. After all, they have to provide a united front before the Lannisters. Taking her husband’s hand, she stands and says. “Come let us go to dinner.” Her husband stands and follows her into the dining room.

* * *

 

**“The lines are being drawn, Mistress. What do you want us to do?”**


	55. Lines Upon Lines

**“The open waves dance before all those who know just what they are there for. The Drowned God sits in his watery halls, planning and waiting for the time when he might rise up once more. The Storm God sits and throws him down, their struggle is endless, it has lasted a full eternity. It will continue and continue. But the faithful will know when the time is right. For Thunder and Lightning cannot defeat the roar of a kraken, the sound of the deep ones.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

The sea was a monstrous thing. As a child, Theon had heard stories about krakens and all other kind of monsters that resided within it. Now, as the Storm God bellowed in his wrath, and the sea threw their ships up and down on violent waves, Theon could not help but wonder if they were all going to drown or not. They had not made it very far, but they were advancing, and he honestly did not want to die at sea. He wants to die of old age, unlike his father. He never wants to be like his father. Never. The sea groans and the sky roars. The battle between the two continues. Theon closes his eyes and murmurs a prayer, to what God he does not know. And then the horns sound. One blast, friends, two blasts, enemies, three blasts? What is three blasts for?

A deep and mournful sound comes then. Theon looks around, and sees fear etched into the faces of his crew. He asks one of them why and the word that comes back scares him as well. “The Silence my lord.” His uncle Euron’s ship. The bastard of the Ironborn. The worst of Quellon Greyjoy’s sons. Returned from exile. Theon has been wondering when he would see his uncle. “Man the decks, man the arrows and the catapults. Let us make sure that this bastard doesn’t come anywhere near us.” The word is passed down the ships, he knows that they will need to do something. A fight is inevitable. His uncle is a mad man, perhaps the maddest of them all.

As they get into order, as they prepare for the battle to come, Theon feels his heart quicken, he feels the world turn on itself. Whether or not the world will be the same after this, he does not know, all he knows is that when this is done, either he will live, or he will die. Regardless, the time has now come to end the fighting. His father had hated and feared Euron, he remembers heated words being exchanged between the brothers on numerous occasions. He remembers his father telling Maron not to go and speak to Euron, and he remembers his father’s anger when Maron did so anyway. This dance has been going on for a lot longer than he has been alive. The dance will continue perhaps if he dies. But he must make sure that it ends. Euron cannot be allowed the chance for power.

The weapons are in order; he waits and then barks. “Fire.” The arrows go whistling out into the air, the sky swallows up their sound. Men are hit and men fall, some are lucky and escape with wounds, others will fall into the sea and die. Theon looks at all of this, dispassionately, he grabs a bow and a quiver, takes aim and fires. The arrows hit one after the other. “Fire.” He roars, shouts come back from the other ships, from the enemy. The Ironborn are fighting one another. Killing one another. His uncle is most likely cackling madly. Theon can picture him, his hair a mess, his eye and his hole dangling madly. The man must be stopped. “Fire.” Arrows are lit and fired. The sea roars, the sky bellows. The world goes mad.

Somewhere he knows that his uncle is doing this to bait him, to lure him into a false sense of security, as an attempt to goad and prod. He will not let that work. “Change formation.” He bellows. The ships turn and twist, the waves, the arrows, the fighting, all of it slows them down, but eventually they manage it. The sky is black as night; the sun has disappeared. Still they fight. This is what they were meant to do, fight and fight. He sees a ship on fire, he sees another one break into an enemy ship, chaos reigns all around him. Tiredness begins to fill him. The arrows are being fired, men are crying out for loved ones, the sea is becoming red, not blue.

Cackling, that is what he hears. An endless cackling that never seems to stop. It keeps going, beating into his head, who is cackling he does not know. All he knows is that there is cackling and it is eating away at him. The lightning in the sky is disconcerting, he is not sure how to make anything work. He is not sure he wants to. The smells of dirt, seaweed, and salt and fear are all strong things. They haunt his every waking moment; they stir everything within him. He cannot bear the pain; he cannot handle this nauseating sense of failure. These emotions are heightened when he sees a wave break down his uncle’s ship, dragging down many good fighting men. He wants to yell, but the noise gets stuck in his throat.

He hears more chaos, and more noise, the world is spinning, he is not sure how he can manage to keep everything down. Another ship, this time his sister’s is dragged down beneath the waves. This time he does scream, loudly. Insults, and thunderous demands for retribution echo inside his head. And yet nothing happens. The fighting keeps going. Euron’s ship moves ever closer, he feels nothing, just pure dread. Perhaps he would welcome death, and it would welcome him. The ship moves closer, the Silence, an apt name for something as deadly as this. The ship stops, an arrow hits, and Euron Greyjoy goes down. Theon stares, then he starts to laugh.

* * *

 

**“The Ploy has worked. The boy is dead.”**


	56. Girl

**“A myriad of games and desires are being played out at court. There are those who thrive in such scenarios, and there are those who struggle to break through the ranks. One must wonder why a northern lord has come south. One must wonder why we should have a northern queen. Has Stark forgotten what happened the last time such a thing was proposed? I do not think so. But it is increasingly difficult to tell if the man would ever see sense.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Sansa Stark**

“Tell me my lady, how have you found court so far?” the King asks her, as they walk arm in arm through the gardens.

Sansa finds herself at a loss for words, she curses herself then. She does not want the King to think her simple. Eventually she says. “It is interesting. It is very colourful, and very different to the way things were done in Winterfell.”

“And what makes you say that?” the King asks.

Sansa bites her tongue, wondering if perhaps she has said the wrong thing. She has developed a habit of doing that around the King. “It is only that here, there are so many more people. And that the system of seeing them and ensuring they feel that they have been seen to is quite unique.” Sansa feels satisfied that she has given a suitable response, and yet, when she chances a glance at the King, his face is neutral and shows nothing. She feels panic begin to dwell within her.

“I see.” The King responds, his voice soft, almost non-committal. Sansa thinks she might have said the wrong thing again, but then the King continues. “The system we have in place here, has developed over time. King’s Landing is a big city, there are many thousands, even millions of people here. They all have something they want looked at and satisfied. At to that, that this is the capital, then I think that more people will come here. In the north, there are few people, and not enough to necessitate such a system.” A silence follows, and Sansa wonders when things changed. The King seems less inclined to spend time with her now, and more concerned with other things. She wonders if she has angered him in some way. Her thoughts are interrupted, when the King speaks. “So tell me, what did you make of the festivities for the new year?”

At this Sansa beams. “Oh it was lovely. There was so much food, so much choice of dishes. There was a lot of nice decorations as well. It was beautiful simply beautiful.”

Sansa thinks that the King will continue the conversation, but instead he simply nods. Eventually, he speaks once more. “Lady Sansa, I have a question to ask you. And I want you to answer me honestly.”

Sansa nods furtively, she could never imagine lying to the King. “Of course Your Grace.”

“Do you truly wish to marry me?” the King asks.

Sansa is flawed by the question, she’s not sure why the King is asking her this. Has she done something wrong? Has she said something to anger him? As she wracks her brain to think of what she could have done, she sees something out the corner of her eye, a little cat, speeding off through a hole somewhere, and her sister chasing it. She feels horror enter her stomach then. She then looks at the King and says. “Of course Your Grace.” She means it.

“And why is that?” the King queries, his voice unusually quiet.

Sansa is not sure what the King means, why wouldn’t she want to marry him? He is handsome, charming, like a knight from the songs. She looks at him and says. “Because you are you Your Grace. You are handsome, charming, a good speaker, and a good listener.”

The King does not give away anything of his thoughts. Instead he changes the conversation. “And what do you think of Lady Margaery?”

Sansa is thrown by the question; she is not sure what Lady Margaery has to do with this. Still she speaks honestly. “Lady Margaery is a nice lady; she is kind and beautiful.”

The King walks them back into the Red Keep and toward the Tower of the Hand, when they get to the bridge he says. “Tell me my lady, do you ever miss the north?”

Sansa does not even need to think before she answers. “No.”

The King nods, and they do not speak after that, when they come to her room, he merely nods at her and says. “Until next time my lady.” She curtseys and walks into her room. She can tell the King is still outside, from the breathing she hears coming outside the room, but then the King is gone, his breathing moving down the hallway.

She finds herself moving to her bed, to sit down and think. She is not sure what just happened, but she knows that something is going on. Perhaps the King was merely making sure that everything was okay. There has been no discussion of their marriage at all for the past few moons, and now, well now Sansa is worried. She wants to go and talk to her Mother and Father about it, but before she can something changes. The room shifts.

_The cold is creeping up on her, the world is darkening. She laughs, the world has been dark to her for so very long. Ever since they removed Father’s head on the steps of Baelor. Ever since they told her that Arya was missing, that Bran and Rickon were dead.  The world has been a never-ending turn and swirl of darkness. She finds herself walking down to the steps, where they had taken her world. She peers over the abyss, it would be so easy, one movement and the pain would end. But before she can, the world turns and the King is dead. Choked to death on a pie. She would laugh, but she can do nothing of the sort. In the chaos, she moves and runs and runs. Ser Dontos takes her to a ship and they move._

Sansa blinks, wondering what just happened. But before she can think a moment more on it, her sister stumbles in, covered in dirt. “Where have you been?” Sansa asks.

“Dancing.” Her sister lies.

* * *

 

**“There is nothing there.”**

 


	57. Surprises

**“The south lost its honour when the Andals came. I do not think they truly know the meaning of the word. I am beginning to think that perhaps Jon never knew what the word meant either. We are all struggling through the path that our ancestors set for us. Now we must make sure we do not fall, and make the same mistakes they did. I think the time has come for some truths to be revealed. How though? That is the question.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

“The Sealord of Braavos has been chosen. In place of the former moderate Sealord Anton Negaryen, the people of Braavos have chosen the much more extreme Trecho Antogaryen.” The master of whispers says.

“In what way does Trecho differ from Anton?” Ned asks, he wishes he knew more about Essosi events, but he finds himself buried under work for the kingdom anyway.

“Trecho has always been outspoken against Braavos dealing with Westeros.” The eunuch responds. “He claims that Westeros is little more than a backwater, a degenerate one at that. That would seek to corrupt and break all who would come into contact with it. He believes firmly that Braavos must restore the natural order of things.”

“So in short he wants war?” Ned asks, his stomach beginning to sink under the weight of what he knows is coming.

“Yes.” The eunuch replies simply.

“How capable are the Braavosi of waging a war?” the King asks.

The eunuch laughs. “They are not capable of doing more than shitting themselves and wiping their arses, to put it crudely. Your lord father destroyed their capability during the last war. And yet they will build themselves up and they will make moves. The people from the kingdom in Braavos are not safe now.”

Ned can sense something building within the council chamber, the sense of anticipation that usually comes before a war. Quickly he says. “King Robert made it so that even if the Sealord was elected, the King would be required to confirm it. And if you think it is against the kingdom’s interest, then you do not need to confirm him.”

Renly speaks then. “Do that, and the Braavosi will find confirmation that the Westerosi are nothing but tyrants, seeking to impede on their liberties and freedoms. It would be better to take the first action and remove the man.”

“The man has not even been confirmed, and already you wish to cause another war?” Ned asks surprised.

“I wish to make sure that the people of Westeros do not need to face the tyranny of the Iron Bank again my lord.” Renly responds sharply. “Braavos was far too powerful during my brother’s reign, it needs to be chained and never allowed to roam free ever again.”

“I agree with Lord Renly.” Ser Tyrion says, speaking for the first time in a council meeting in a very long time. “I believe we must make it so that we have complete power over the city, otherwise, there will be nothing but chaos.”

Ned feels as though he is living in a constant repeat. This was exactly what was said during the initial war with Braavos, and though that went well, there are many different things playing up here. The King is not his father, he is not a warrior, he is a good King, but a soldier he is not. If the King dies, his younger less capable brother will become the new King, and that is not something they can handle right now. He looks at the King and pleads. “Sire, do not take the first action. Meet with the new Sealord and then decide.”

“You would have the King sit on his hands, whilst a potentially dangerous threat sits at his gates?” Lord Grafton asks incredulously.

“I am asking the King to consider all his options, before he makes a hasty decision that could potentially cost more lives than it would save.” Ned responds, fighting very hard to keep his voice even.

“Lord Stark, surely you must see that there is nothing to gain by keeping our men at home? The crops have already been gathered in, supplies are full to bursting for winter and for another three wars. The crown’s coffers are overflowing. We must use that now, otherwise we risk a greater calamity.” Ser Willas says.

Ned stares at the heir to Highgarden, agape. “You would have us march to war, to prevent an overflowing of the treasury?”

“I would have us march to war, so that we can protect our kingdom against the idiocy of a man who claims to know things, when he knows nothing. We must do this.” Ser Willas responds.

Ned does not know what to say, and so is surprised when the King speaks. “I understand your reluctance Lord Stark, but the other members of the council speak sense. Braavos is mine by right of conquest. I will not have some fool destabilise the good work being done there, for nothing more than petty hate. If it means marching to war, then that is what will be done.”

“How will you supply for such a venture? How do you know if the other free cities will be as willing to support this? This time, Braavos is in the right here.” Ned points out.

Before the King can respond, the eunuch speaks. “The other free cities are busy dealing with another threat. It seems there is some political crisis going on between Pentos, Norvos, Lys and Myr. They will not be looking at Braavos, but rather at their own cities.”

Ned sighs. He recognises his defeat, and so lamely looks at the King and asks. “What do you wish to do Sire?”

The King smiles. “I believe the fleets of the Reach and our very own fleet shall be summoned and prepared. From there we shall summon the lords of the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Reach and the Riverlands to march on Braavos for war. You shall remain here Lord Stark, I want you to handle the Vale situation.”

Ned nods. “Very well Sire. When shall you depart?”

“Within the next moon.” The King responds.

* * *

 

**“Territory, it is all about territory.”**


	58. Stories

**“I never knew why my father was obsessed with the Starks. I spent a long time trying to figure that out. Then one day I realised. It was because he had never had a family himself. His father and mother had allowed him to be fostered out at a young age, his brothers were either an idiot, or too young, and so he allowed himself to get stuck into something. He became friends with Eddard Stark as an attempt to fill that hole inside of him. And now, here I am bearing that burden.”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon.**

“My apologies for summoning you here at such a late hour my Lord.” Joffrey says assessing just how tired the Lord Protector is by the bags underneath his eyes.

“Not a worry Your Grace.” Stark replies.

Joffrey nods. “Now, the hour is late, so I do not wish to keep you here too long. There are just three things I wish to speak to you about. First amongst them is my uncle.”

Stark nods. “You wish to know if everything went smoothly with his departure?”

“Yes.” Joffrey replies simply.

Stark seems to consider this for a moment, before replying. “He was taken in chains from the dungeons to the gates of the city. He cooperated, he did not say a word about the letters, or about anything. He accepted his punishment and mounted his horse. My men, all fifty of them, rode with him, heavily armed from the North Gate, and into the Riverlands. They will inform me when he gets to Harrenhal and onwards.”

“And the letters he claimed to have? Did you find them?” Joffrey asks.

“Any letters that he might have had were not there. It seems that they were destroyed. His rooms were searched, and there is an investigation happening in Dragonstone now.” Stark responds.

“And how is his daughter settling in?” Joffrey asks. He barely knows his cousin, but she is a little girl. It is important that she settle in well enough.

“Well enough. She and my daughter Arya are getting on well. And I think she is enjoying having something of a family.” Stark responds, a rare trace of a smile on his face.

Satisfied, Joffrey nods. “Dragonstone will be an issue. I cannot allow her to inherit the place, but I cannot allow it to remain unoccupied. Who would you recommend for the seat?”

Stark seems a little hesitant as he replies. “Traditionally it was the seat given to the heir of the throne. A Targaryen tradition that I believe your father did not wish to continue. If you are of the same mindset Your Grace, then perhaps giving it to a loyal lord would be a good gesture. Someone who served you well so far, or will serve you well.”

Joffrey nods, he knows that Dragonstone is a bit of a barren land, but it has symbolic importance as the seat of the Targaryens, and he has a feeling there are as of yet untapped riches there. Deciding that for now, the issue can be put to rest, he takes a breath then says. “There was another issue, I wished to discuss with you. The betrothal. I asked you to consider whether you wished for it to go ahead. It has been some time since then, and now I ask you again have you considered?”

“I have.” Stark replies after a moment’s hesitation.

“And?” Joffrey asks, his patience beginning to thin, it is late, and he does have a war to prepare for.

“I have decided that you were right Sire. My daughter is not ready to be Queen, and I do not think that forcing her into this role would be wise.” Stark responds.

Joffrey smiles. “A wise decision my lord. So, we are agreed then, the betrothal is over?” he tries to keep his voice soft, and not too eager.

He must succeed, for Stark nods his head in agreement. “We are Sire.”

“Good.” Joffrey states, then adds. “Sansa can stay in King’s Landing for as long as you deem it appropriate. I will help her find a new betrothed if you wish.”

Stark shakes his head. “Thank you for the offer Sire, but that is quite alright.”

A moment passes, then another, they both look at one another, neither side quite sure what to do, and then Joffrey speaks. “Well, the hour is late. I shall not keep you, my lord. Thank you for coming.”

Stark nods, stands and bows, heading to the door, before he pauses and asks. “You said you had three things you wished to speak to me about Sire, we have only discussed two.”

Joffrey feels his mouth open as the realisation dawns, he is not sure what the third thing was, he’s not sure that there ever was a third thing. And if there was, he really can’t be bothered to talk about it now. That is why he says. “It is fine my lord. Get some sleep.” Stark nods once more and walks out of the room.

Once Stark is gone, Joffrey sits at the table for a long time, then he feels her arms wrap around him and he smiles. “How did he take it?” Margaery asks.

“He was the one who said that the betrothal should be broken.” Joffrey says in response, pulling Margaery closer, liking the feel of her hair as it tickles his chin.

“Well that is good. At least now you know where you stand with him.” Margaery says.

Joffrey hums in agreement, then he says. “Come forward, I want to be able to see you.” He hears her come forward, and then she sits in his lap, and he is amazed at how normal this all feels. “I’ll need to clean some things up down within the basements of the keep.”

Margaery nods against his neck and then purrs. “But before then?”

Joffrey looks at her and grins. “Before then, I intend to please my lady.” He starts kissing her then and loses himself in her hair and her.

* * *

 

**“I am sorry Robert, but it has not happened.”**


	59. Destruction

****

**“Savages rule my home now. That is the greatest farce, I think I could ever have seen. We fell into the way of them. We became their debtors, their keepers, and they destroyed us. I warned my people of the risks of allowing that to happen. But I was not listened to. Now we are suffering, now we are hurting. I will change that, I will make it happen. I will break the fools who would hurt my home.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Geoffrey Staunton**

Geoffrey despised Braavos, it was humid, it was smelly and it was a shit heap. There was no charm to the place, there was no sanity to the people. It was in short a relic of a bygone age. He was looking forward to heading home soon, but for now he was meeting with the newly elected Sealord of Braavos. The man was a savage, dressed in silks and gold, he smelled of finery, but there was hatred underneath all of that. Geoffrey smiles at the man and says. “Congratulations on your election my lord. You must be very pleased.”

“Thank you, my lord. I am.” The new Sealord responds. “It has been a very long campaign and now I am looking forward to ensuring Braavos becomes great again.”

The words make Geoffrey pause. “Do you think Braavos has suffered since the last election?”

The new Sealord smirks. “I think that there are some things that the King of Westeros cannot quite handle from his vaunted seat in King’s Landing. There are things that only a Braavosi can handle. That is what I intend to do.”

“How do you intend to do that? Braavos is a territory of the crown. If you wish to make changes you will need to get the King’s approval.” Geoffrey points out.

“I am well aware of that my lord.” The Sealord responds cagely. “I am merely saying that the changes I intend to bring are changes that I think the King will be able to respect.”

“And what changes are those?” Geoffrey asks.

“I will reduce the tariffs on locally made goods. I will encourage there to be more maritime trade, and I will encourage fisheries to open once more. The invasion created much chaos, and I think the time has come for it to be restored.” The Sealord says.

Cautiously Geoffrey asks. “And what of those members who voted for you, because of your more radical policies towards the King and Westeros?”

Here the Sealord laughs. “Oh come now my lord, surely you recognised the diplomatic bluster that that was? I am no fool. I know that we do not have the power to openly disrupt Westeros, nor do I have the will or inclination to do so. Westeros has become a power once more, and I think Braavos can only benefit from remaining an ally of the place.”

“An ally? You are a territory of the throne.” Geoffrey responds sharply.

“Oh I am aware, and yet how much time and resources can Westeros truly invest in us? We are a big city, a powerful one, even if much of our financial power has been stripped of us. We can cause chaos, but we do not wish to. Westeros has its own issues. We would work better as allies than as enemies.” The Sealord says. “Surely you can see that?”

Geoffrey hesitates. Personally, he feels that the Braavosi should all be wiped out for the threat they pose to Westeros, but he knows that saying as such would not be considered very diplomatic and so instead he says. “I can see why you would think that. But I would also point out, that as you, yourself have acknowledged, Braavos’ financial power has been greatly reduced, the Iron Bank is nothing more than a smoking ruin. You need the throne, more than it needs you.”

Geoffrey can tell that the Sealord does not like that, but the man remains all smiles. “And you are not wrong. Yet I would pose a question to you. Do you think that tyranny can justify keeping a people down, if there is no gain? Or do you think freedom is needed?”

Confused by the question, Geoffrey asks. “I am not sure what you mean, can you elaborate?”

The Sealord smiles. “Of course. What I mean is that, Braavos has always been a free city. There are no slaves here, there are no Kings or Princes, only electors and nobles and merchants and people. We work together for the good of the city. Do you think the King can understand that?”

Sensing that something might be off, Geoffrey replies. “I do not see why not.”

The Sealord smirks. “I hoped you would say something like that.” A pause then the man continues. “Tell me my lord, what do you know of our people? Of the people who fought for our freedom?”

“I know they were slaves who managed to escape the reach of Valyria, and beyond that very little.” Geoffrey admits.

“Ah yes, the slave story. A true one, but not the one I was hoping for.” The Sealord responds.

“What was it you were hoping for?” Geoffrey asks warily.

He can hear feet pattering against somewhere, where he is not sure, but the sound is deeply disconcerting, and so he tries to get his focus back on the task at hand, but his mind keeps drawing away toward other regions. He looks at the Sealord and sees him standing.  “We are talking about Braavos. Where money and death trade hands freely. So, tell me, what do you know of us?”

The pattering of feet grows louder, and Geoffrey can feel his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. “Nothing.”

“Exactly.” The Sealord replies, and then before he knows it there are feet hammering toward him, a dagger is drawn, another is drawn and another. Geoffrey does not feel them pierce his skin, but they must do so, for he is soon on the floor bleeding, gasping for breath. The Sealord stands over him, his face changed. “Valar Morghulis.” The man snarls, disappearing.

* * *

 

**“It has begun Mistress.”**


	60. Continuity

**“Life, time, all of these things are concepts. Whether we know what to do with them is down to us. I believe we are walking a fine line. A line that is soon to be crossed. When the Targaryen dynasty was removed from the throne, the balance of power was changed, it was broken. Westeros is cracking under the pressure of that change. We are now going to have to restore the balance of power before it is too late. And as a learned man, I cannot believe I have said that.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

“The usurper has deigned to attack Braavos again.” The words come from Connington, and Aegon listens to him intently. “It seems he feels threatened by the election of a new Sealord who is completely opposed to his regime. I think that this has now meant the Westerosi coast is open.”

Leaning forward Aegon asks. “Has he done as his father did and summoned the lords of the Crownlands, the Riverlands and the Reach to make a move there?”

“Yes Sire. He has left Stark in control of King’s Landing, and has also left his brother there. He has asked for the Redwyne fleet to sail from the Arbor toward Braavos as well. A move that will take them moons to do.” Connington says.

Aegon looks at Admiral Saan, the man who controls some one hundred war ships and says. “That is where you shall go then my Admiral. Toward the Stepstones to fight off the Redwyne fleet.”

Saan speaks then. “A bold move Sire, and one I will willingly partake in. But we must know how many of the ships of the Redwyne fleet are sailing.” Here Saan looks at Connington as does Aegon.

Connington looks down at the notes he has made and says. “One hundred ships precisely. Some war galleys others merchant vessels. All commanded by Lord Redwyne himself.”

Saan smiles at that. “Very good, this is something I can handle.”

Aegon nods encouraged by that. “I want you to destroy his fleet and then take him prisoner, his sons as well if they are with him. I will want to personally meet with them myself.” Saan nods.

Strickland speaks then. “What of the rest of the army then Sire? Where shall you wish us to go?”

Aegon looks at the map before them and then says. “The Golden Company, the Second Sons and the Company of the Cat shall set sail with me and my family for Griffin’s Roost. From there we shall take the castle, by force or diplomacy and then we shall head northwards. I have had word from Dorne, a host under the command of my uncle Prince Oberyn shall be heading into the Reach. Another host under the command of one Lord Yronwood and Prince Quentyn shall be marching into the marches from the Boneway.” Aegon looks at the Tattered Prince and says. “Uncle, you shall take your windblown and meet them in the marches near Summerhall.”

The Tattered Prince nods but then asks. “And what if there is resistance along the way?”

“Whatever resistance there is, will either be forced to bend the knee through reasoned argument, or destroyed.” Aegon says simply.

The Tattered Prince nods, and then Viserys speaks. “And what of the alliances that Your Grace has worked so hard to bring into fruition? The Essosi coalition stands before us now. But what of Westeros?”

Aegon looks at Connington, and at his sister and raises an eyebrow. His sister is the one who speaks first. “Letters have been exchanged with lords in both the Reach and the Riverlands. Many have pledged tentative support, but they are of course waiting to see how things go for the campaign.”

Aegon nods, and whilst that is not entirely a satisfactory thing for him, he accepts that that is how things are going to be for now. He looks at Connington and asks. “What of Dondarrion, Caron, Swann and others in the Marches? Have your old friends said anything?”

“They have Sire. They feel that the power of the Tyrells and the Lannisters has corroded their own ability to make a difference in the realm. They feel that a change is needed. Lord Caron, Lord Swann and Lord Grandison have all pledged their swords to you, and are promising action against Fell, Buckler and Cafferen if they do not do the same.” Connington states.

Aegon considers this, he remembers what he was taught as a child, the Marcher Lords contain a lot of the power within the Stormlands, alienate them and you would be finished. He smiles at the thought that Renly Baratheon had through his actions alienated them most severely. “Very good.” He says, then thinking on it asks. “What of the Starks? They are key to the north are they not? Where do we stand with them?”

Here Connington sighs. “We so far, have made no inroads with Eddard Stark. Our friends at court, have been unsuccessful of convincing him to turn. However, we have learned that his sons do not like the usurper’s son, and so there is a chance there.”

Curious, Aegon asks. “How would you recommend we go about doing that?”

“Stark’s heir is a young man, who is acting restrained now, but offer him a chance of glory and he will make bold moves.” Rhaenys says, nodding to Connington. “Furthermore, Stark has a bastard son who he refuses to legitimise. We could make that offer for him, and indeed do it.”

Aegon thinks over this for a moment and then nods. “Very well. Haldon, I want you to draw up the letters and send them off to Winterfell, do it now, if you would.” The Half Maester nods and gets to work. Satisfied, Aegon looks around the room and says. “We have worked long and hard for this to happen, the time is nearly upon us. For we are returning home, and we shall make sure that the usurper’s get and his allies pay for what they did. We leave for Westeros today, and when we land, we come as the Conqueror did, to assert our right.” A cheer goes up at this and Aegon smiles, thinking of the war to come.

* * *

 

**“Tell the world, the dragons are coming, tell them, they bring fire and blood.”**


	61. Braavosi Skin

****

**“The Walls are covered in blood. They are decked out in the skin and fire of their enemies. For so long we thought that they were the savages and we are the normal ones. I guess now we know the truth. There are no savages, there are no normal ones. We are all one and the same. And may the gods help us for that.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

Braavos, a shining city in Essos, their city in Essos. Chaos was what he saw now as the boat came into harbour. The walls were ablaze, there was smoke fuming out of the sky and it looked like a scene from a play about the Mad King. Renly steps out of the boat and climbs up the ladder, accompanied by Loras and a knight of the Kingsguard. He is greeted by Lord Sunglass, an old and decrepit old man. The man bows, and Renly asks. “What has happened here?”

Sunglass looks positively terrified but he replies all the same. “Lord Staunton was murdered my lord.”

Renly sighs, he has feared that something like that would happen. Reluctantly, he asks. “Who murdered him?”

The response shocks him. “The Faceless Men did, my lord.”

“What?” Renly exclaims. “The Faceless Men were destroyed.”

Sunglass shakes his head. “I am not sure how, but they survived, and they did the deed. This was left on Staunton’s body when it was found.” Sunglass hands him a coin with a lion headed man on it.

Renly sighs, looks at Loras, then asks. “What is the situation then?” then he shakes his head and says. “Actually, wait here, I shall ask the King to come.” He turns to one of his men and gives the orders, they stand in silence waiting as the King comes ashore on a boat, accompanied by Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard and the Hound. Renly bows before the King and speaks. “Lord Sunglass has news Sire.”

“Well? What is it?” the King demands.

Sunglass is not a strong man, never has been, but it seems that in the face of his sovereign, he finds his voice. “Lord Staunton was murdered whilst meeting with the new Sealord, Sire. The faceless men did the deed.” Renly hands the coin over to the King and sees the King’s face tighten into a scowl. “The city has now fallen into outright chaos. We are overstretched and unable to be everywhere at once to handle the forces that are now rallying against us.”

The King looks as if he might roar, Renly looks at Sunglass and asks. “What areas of the city do you hold?”

“Ragman’s Harbour, and this port, known as Chequy Port. But the Purple Harbour was seized by the Sealord.” Sunglass says.

“We control the two most important ports then.” Renly surmises. “What of the inner city?”

“The Drowned Town, and the Sealord’s Northern Side. The southern and eastern sides are under Braavosi occupation. The new Sealord has armed his citizens and has rallied them as a resistance force.” Sunglass supplies.

“That man is not Sealord of Braavos.” The King says then, his rage showing in his voice. “Until I confirm him as Sealord, is nothing more than a person who holds a supposed title.”

“Your pardon, Sire, but the Sealord does not see it as that. He has revoked the crown’s authority.” Sunglass says.

The King looks as if he might choke Sunglass then, and so Renly quickly intercedes. “How many fights have you fought against this man?”

“Three. One battle saw most of our commanders die, another saw us take the Chequy Port, and the third pushed the Sealord back. We are struggling though.” Sunglass admits.

“Very well.” The King says. “The ships will come in and the men shall set up camp here. We have brought supplies with us. Once that has been sorted we must discuss what to do next.” They all agree to that, and so they part, and the next few hours are spent watching and organising ships and the transport of men and goods. Soon enough tents are set up, and a vast command tent is arranged near the King’s Flagship.

They are all gathered in the command tent, the King and all the lords who could come from the Stormlands, Crownlands and Riverlands. Renly speaks first. “We are facing a difficult situation. Though we control two of the ports, the traitor in the Sealord’s Palace holds the Braavosi ships and their goods. He also has the Faceless Men at his side.”

Lord Tarth speaks then. “How could they still survive? King Robert destroyed them.”

“The Faceless Men are known for their sneakiness, and I would not be surprised if some of them were hidden by the lies of Petyr Baelish.” Grafton supplies.

“Regardless, we shall all need to be careful.” Renly says. “The Faceless men will not fight like honest men. They will sneak and hide and do all they can to break us through treachery. Anyone who does not seem right shall need to be held and questioned.”

“Lord Renly is right. The Faceless Men are the greatest threat. We shall need to find their hideouts and destroy them. We shall need to deal a firm hand to the peasants who are revolting as well.” The King says.

“What do you suggest Sire?” Renly asks.

“We have the royal fleet, that is one hundred ships, the Redwyne fleet is coming that is another two hundred. We shall be able to blockade the city, and starve them out. The Sealord might inspire anger toward us. But if they do not have food and water, they will not survive.” The King responds.

“And whilst the blockade is going on? What then?” Renly asks, testing his nephew’s knowledge.

“We shall talk to the peasants, see if they wish to live as people of Westeros, or die as foolish rebels.” The King responds simply.

Renly nods. “A wise plan Sire.” The orders are passed out, and the blockade begins. That night, Renly sits in his tent, looking over maps, wondering how long they will be here for.

* * *

 

**“There is one God. His name, Death.”**

 


	62. Gods Of The Sea

****

**“Never fight when the lady of the sea is angry. If you do that, you are destined to die, for she does not like being disobeyed. She is like many a Lady, filled with honeyed words, and poison. Now I believe the time is coming where the world of war, will be fought on the waves. But then, we might not yet know when the tide will change. I must go. The waves are calling.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Paxter Redwyne**

Rain was hammering down onto the deck. Paxter could feel it hitting his armour, it was a deafening thing. It was a frightful thing, and it was his. The sea was where he had been raised, it was his home, far more so than the land on which he ruled. Three sea battles he had fought during his life, Fair Isle, Braavos and now this one. It was a very interesting experience. He was a born sailor, but fighting was a different thing. Especially with Mace on board. His cousin and goodbrother was an irritable man at the best of times, and yet now, now he was determined to do something or the other, something to show just how important he was. Frankly it was infuriating.

The ship swayed, and Paxter cursed. This was not going to plan; they’d been meant to sail around the Stepstones and make way for Braavos. Dorne had not proved a problem, despite reports, and so they’d been hugely surprised when they’d arrived in the Stepstones to find a force there waiting for them. Flying three headed dragon banners. And now they were fully engaged with that force. Paxter could tell they were outnumbered, but he felt their larger ships could pull off the day. If only Mace would leave the command to him. But of course, his goodbrother wanted to have all the glory. And so, they were lurching from one bad decision to the next.

Paxter feels helpless as men bearing his coat of arms are plunged to their deaths. Their weight dragging them down. Ships are rammed into one another, damaging them all. He wants to curse, to scream, to yell, but he cannot do any of those things, as Mace is his liege lord, and therefore with his presence on the ships, he is in command. Paxter feels like tearing his hair out. He cannot do that either. His men would not respond well to their lord throwing a fit, and Mace most definitely wouldn’t. All he can do then is take his axe and kill any pirate scum who comes near him. He hacks and breaks and swears, but he does not know if this is going to make a whit of difference. The enemy continues to approach, to appear to haunt him.

Men continue to fall down; they continue to bleed. His ships, his precious ships are taking on water and falling, sinking fast. Archers are raining fire and hell upon all sides, but it does nothing. Hand to hand combat is deigned mute when the ships crash and men fall. They keep going, fighting, inch by bloody inch, they fight. It gets them nowhere; they are still struggling to move forward. Paxter feels sweat trickle down his forehead into his neck. The heat is starting to get to him. He roars a challenge, a curse, anything to keep his men moving. Mace is somewhere, fighting, bellowing, and then Mace stops. Paxter sees his goodbrother’s body drifting into the water, he roars a curse. “Men, about turn, about turn.” He barks, he knows they are losing this, they have lost too many ships to recover now, but if they can get them out of the Stepstones, perhaps they can do something.

As they drift in and out of the islands, the enemy pursues them. Paxter watches from the front and then the back as his ships are crashed on rocks, as they are broken in places where they should never have set sail to. He curses Mace, then feels terrible for cursing a dead man. “Fire the raft.” He roars, and arrows are lit and fired, whatever ships he has left are with him, those that are not, they cannot be taken. His men will die, but it is a price he must pay. He watches as his ships catch fire, or they breathe easily. He takes a breath, and then moves to the front.

There waiting for them are the fleet of the Shield Islands. “About bloody time.” He mutters to himself. But the fleet does not aid him and them, they instead turn and fire. He roars at the betrayal. Paxter feels as if it is nagging into his bones, but he cannot do anything. He watches more and more of his ships burn and break. He feels it all itching away at him. He tries to stem the tide, using his ship as the main ram, but nothing changes. They keep breaking apart, fire and water burning and sinking them. His heart goes into his mouth, he wonders where his sons are, whether they are safe or not. Another blow, another heart wrenching scream and he knows they are finished.

Paxter sighs. He knows that perhaps he should surrender, and allow them to take him prisoner. But he knows what pirates are like, they’ll take his ransom and then kill him anyway. Saan especially.  Paxter barks commands, and the fighting continues. More and more men die before him. There is nothing to it, nothing at all. Just mindless bloody slaughter. Eventually, he grows tired of looking around. He says a prayer to the Seven and then moves, as quickly as he can. He cuts and breaks with his axe, then as he comes face to face with a man he knew well as a child, he swings, the man swings. And they both plummet into the sea as their ships collide.

* * *

 

**“Victory, or death. I’ll fight to my last breath. What a stupid saying. I’d rather live.”**


	63. Seaborn

**“Now that the boy is dead, perhaps the man can do the work. We must reclaim our former glory. I will not accept less of things, such as this. Now we are the ones who must lead the world into the light. The Drowned God is stirring, as the world trembles. We are his chosen people, and we shall fight. To deny him would be a crime more grievous than sin itself.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Theon Greyjoy**

“Victarion and Asha were given to the waves when we fought Euron.” Theon says, the images of their ships sinking, still playing into his mind. That was the only way an Ironborn could die, no other way made sense. “Euron died as well.” He adds on. “Euron, why was he there, I do not know.”

“Likely he was coming back to the Islands after learning of your father’s death.” Lord Rodrik Harlaw, Theon’s uncle explains. “He had been banished by Balon after he had forced himself on Victarion’s wife.”

That does not surprise Theon, his uncle was a savage. “And so he likely would’ve been coming back to claim the Seastone Chair no doubt. Well now he cannot.”

“Did you see his body?” Aeron asks.

“No.” Theon replies. “I saw him get shot by an arrow though, and then his ship went under.”

“He might not be dead.” Aeron responds.

Theon stares at his uncle, he has heard a lot of things, but this, this is new. “I saw him get shot by an arrow, and another and another. Then his ship went down. He was wearing full armour; he would not have survived.”

“This is Euron Greyjoy we are speaking about. I would not be surprised if he had somehow survived. But for now, that is not something we need to think about.” Aeron says dismissively.

“Quite right.” Theon says, agreeing with his uncle, a rare thing in of itself. “I believe the time has come for us to look outwards once more. We took a hit when we fought Euron, but now the mainland is getting ready for war, and I think we could adapt this to my plan.”

“You mean the plan which never got put into use?” Aeron asks, sounding rather dismissive.

“Lann is still here with us. But there are more valuable targets up for grabs.” Theon responds.

“And what could be more valuable than Lannister gold?” Aeron asks.

“The Shield Islands and the Arbor.” Theon supplies. At his uncle’s confused look, he adds. “Paxter Redwyne died fighting pirates and the traitorous lords of the Shield Islands. If we take the Shield Islands now, they will be defenceless and we would be doing everyone a favour. We could keep them. As for the Arbor. They have wine and other minerals we need for trade. We could make quite the profit off of them.”

“And I do not doubt that the Greenlander King you swore fealty to, would demand some of it. This is the time to declare independence. Act as a King and your lords will follow you.” Aeron retorts.

Theon groans internally then. He thought he’d left behind this constant nattering when Victarion died. But of course, his uncle Aeron would be there to bring it up once more. He takes a breath then responds. “Whilst the thought of a crown might appeal to you, uncle, I quite like having my head on my shoulders. We can gain more by remaining within Westeros than by breaking away from it. The Shield Islands belong to lords who have turned traitor. Their fighting men are away, and we now have a golden opportunity to strike. Same with the Arbor.”

“The Arbor belongs to the Redwynes. And the Redwynes, as you have just said are fighting for Joffrey Baratheon. Why would the Greenlander King support you removing the rights of a vassal then?” Aeron probes.

“Because Lord Redwyne is dead, and his sons are either dead or prisoner of an enemy. His daughter however is unwed, and as of right now heiress to a large and wealthy island. Only a loyal vassal could be given her hand and that of the Arbor.” Theon replies.

“You intend to marry her then?” Lord Rodrik asks.

“Yes. And I intend to do it soon, before the Lords of the Shield Islands get any sort of ideas.” Theon replies.

“You cannot.” Aeron says. “You cannot marry the girl.”

Anger grows within him then, and he fights to keep his voice calm. “And why is that?”

“The Ironborn will never accept a woman who comes from the Arbor. Lord Quellon was not even a fool to do that, and he was many things.” Aeron snaps.

Theon stares at his uncle. “The Ironborn have been destroyed every time they have faced a committed foe from the Green lands since the day Aegon the Conqueror destroyed Harren Hoare. We have not advanced beyond that level since that day, and now we are poor and desolate, where once we were rich and bountiful.”

“And you would what? Take the lands through marriage? Are you Ironborn or a Greenlander?” his uncle asks.

Theon stands up then, towering over his uncle, he snarls. “I am Ironborn uncle, but I am also a smart man. I know where we are heading, and if we continue down this way, we are going to die out before the third century ends. If you want to die, then I will kill you myself. If you want to live, then shut your mouth and allow the thinkers to do as they wish.”

He can see the horror on his uncle’s face, and he relishes in it. It feels good to tell the old fool to shut up. He walks back to his chair, sits down and then says. “I will want the fleet ready to depart within the week. We have much and more work to do. Aeron, your duty is to ensure the priests are there to bless us.” The man nods and then Theon dismisses him.

Once the man is gone, his other uncle Lord Rodrik replies. “That was ill done. He will remember.”

“Good, I want him to remember.” Theon responds curtly.

* * *

 

**“A traitor. That is what he is.”**


	64. Living Times

**“Targaryens have always had this implacable anger. Unable to distinguish between what they think they are owed, and that which they are actually owed. I believe it comes from believing they were Gods for so long. And when they had dragons, they were. None could challenge a Targaryen and live. Then the Dragons died, and they continued, but they lost their authority slowly but surely, until a Mad King came and died. Now they cannot reclaim the throne.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

“The Redwyne Fleet was completely destroyed my lord.” Varys says. “Pirates commanded by Admiral Saan led the resistance to them. Lord Paxter was killed as was Lord Tyrell, their sons were taken prisoner.”

“Where did the fighting take place?” Ned asks.

“The Stepstones. They were cornered as they tried to make their way out of the islands.” Varys says.

“The Stepstones? Why did it take them so long to get there?” Ned asks. “They were supposed to have been sailing past Pentos at this point.”

Here, the eunuch seems to slow, his mouth hanging open for a split second, then closing, then opening again. “I believe Lord Redwyne was plagued by bad currents and storms before he could leave properly. Hence the delay in his departure. And so, they were caught by the Pirates.”

“How many ships did Redwyne take with him, and how many did the Pirates have?” Ned asks.

“One hundred war galleys each, my lord.” Varys responds.

Ned runs a hand through his beard, this is not good. “And all of the Redwyne fleet has been destroyed?”

“Yes.” The eunuch responds. “It was decimated in the fighting. There is nothing left of it.”

Ned’s shoulders slump. He looks at Ser Willas and says. “I am sorry for your loss my lord.”

He can tell by the way Tyrell’s mouth opens that he is going to protest, but then the words sink home, and the man’s shoulders slump and he sighs. “Thank you my lord.” The man then looks at Varys. “Do you know if anyone was taken prisoner?”

“Your brother Ser Garlan was taken prisoner my lord. As was Lord Tarly. It seems the pirates mean to use them for the Targaryens.” Varys responds.

Ned groans. Of course, the Targaryens would be involved with this, they’ve been a constant nagging itch since the rebellion. He would never have agreed to killing children, but perhaps having fought them before the Greyjoy rebellion would’ve been good. Then they’d not have to be fighting them now. Resigned, he asks. “Where are they now?”

“The Pirates are making a move for the Marches. The Targaryens landed in the Stormlands, and so far have taken Griffin’s Roost, the Rainwood, Estermont and I believe they are on the path to taking Tarth. My sources tell me that the Dornish have mustered in great numbers and are marching through the Prince’s Pass and the Boneway as well.” Varys supplies.

Ned hears this, stunned. “How were we not aware of the Dornish mustering men, or of this great force coming to attack us before?”

The eunuch sighs. “It takes time for information to travel, my lord. And when it does reach, sometimes it is jumbled and confused. It takes time to part the good from the bad. Hence this situation we find ourselves in now.”

Ned wants to press the eunuch, but he knows he cannot, the man is far too valuable. Instead, he turns to Lord Willas, and asks. “You know Prince Oberyn, without a doubt he will be commanding this Dornish host. Tell me, will he head into the Reach, or go straight into the Stormlands?”

Lord Willas considers this question, his hand on his chin. “I am not sure my lord. Oberyn could do anything. But whichever way he does go, he will be prepared to cause as much destruction as possible.”

“Then we had best be prepared.” Ned responds. “The Reach is far too valuable to allow it to be destroyed. Lord Willas, I want you to write to Highgarden and Oldtown, tell them to prepare for the fight. Tell them to muster their arms.”

“Do you wish for me to return to Highgarden to prepare for the fight as well?” Tyrell asks.

“No. I need you here.” Ned says. _I do not trust you Tyrell, nor did I trust your father. But at least I knew your father was a buffoon. I am not so sure about you._

Tyrell nods. “Very well, I will communicate with them from here, to ensure that nothing goes wrong.”

“Thank you.” Ned says gratefully. Then he asks. “Lord Varys, the Targaryen claimant, is it Viserys? How can the boy who we’ve been told is the Mad King come again, be rallying so much support?” he never met the boy, but he has heard the stories, and they do not paint a good picture, that someone would want a mad King on the throne surprises and horrifies him.

“It is not Viserys, my lord. No it is someone much more important.” The eunuch supplies.

“Who?” Ned demands.

“Aegon Targaryen.” Varys responds.

Ned feels his throat seize up then. “How can that be possible? Aegon Targaryen died, I saw his body myself.”

The eunuch lets out a sigh, and suddenly Ned is not convinced of his sincerity. “It appears that that was not Prince Aegon. I am not quite sure how the boy survived, but he has rallied quite a lot of support, in the east and in Westeros as well, through using his claim of being Prince Rhaegar’s son.”

“Prince Rhaegar was a rapist and a mad man.” Ned says before he can stop himself.

The eunuch looks at him as if he cannot quite believe what he has heard, but the man says nothing. Instead Lord Willas speaks. “Even if the boy is who he says he is, how can he prove it?”

“His sister Princess Rhaenys is also alive and at his side. Those in Dorne who saw her before the rebellion can confirm that.” Varys responds.

Ned stares at the eunuch, and then in an instant he calls out. “Guards!” Four of the city watch appear in the room at once looking at him. “Take Lord Varys to the Black Cells.” They nod and obey without question, and when the eunuch does not protest, he thinks he is right. He hopes he is.

* * *

 

**“Agony and Pain.”**


	65. Fight, the Good Fight

****

**“The World will not stop if you die. It will keep moving. The whole fucking world won’t stop. Only a fool believes that it will. Are you a fool? I do not think so. I think you’re someone who wants to be a fool, but knows deep down that they’re something much more than that. The time has come for you to decide. Do you want to be a fool, or do you want to be a God?”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

Awooooo. The horns sound, Joffrey feels his heart begin to speed up. He knows the plan; he has helped create the plan. He is the plan. Soon enough they will have either all of Braavos, or nothing of it. The men continue marching, a slow and steady beat against the ground. Riding a horse feels odd when they are riding through the city, but Joffrey knows that there is much and more that can be seen from horseback that would be missed if one were to be on foot. It gives the aura of being King, and it ensures authority is reassured. So, they continue moving forward. The horns are not meant to signal anything other than their approach. Joffrey wants the traitors to know that they are coming, that their freedom is at an end. He will kill all of them, there will be no time for peace now.

As they come closer toward the border, the arrows start firing. The Braavosi have crossbows, but there are other things that can be used. And as such, Joffrey watches and waits. The arrows bounce and miss, hitting air, where once before there were people. He smiles underneath his helm. He calls a halt to the march, raises his hand and watches as the arrows rain fire down on the enemy. His own archers use longbows from the Riverlands and the Stormlands. They have much better accuracy than a bunch of peasants and merchants. As the screams of the dying begin to echo around them, Joffrey watches and nods to Ser Jaime, he wants his uncle leading the first wave. As his uncle and his men start moving, Joffrey calls a halt to the arrow fire, and waits.

Joffrey watches as the Braavosi peasants face the toughest onslaught yet to their hold. He has offered them peace and safety, only to have it thrown back in his face. Now there will be no mercy. No terms will be offered, only death will be meted out. Ser Jaime and his men hit the peasants hard, breaking and killing most of them. Joffrey knows though that this is but the first wave, the Braavosi merchants hide in their manors and their palaces, and send the peasants to die. It disgusts him, but if the fools are willing to die for such masters, then he will allow them to die. The sounds of the dying ring throughout the sky, the clouds turn a dark red, the water will run with poison before long. As Ser Jaime breaks through the ranks, Joffrey raises his sword and spurs his horse on. The time has come for the King to make his move.

His horse goes charging into the fray, there are no lances here, the peasants do not warrant such methods of attack. Instead, Joffrey and his men use their swords and other weapons to slash and cut, at the fools down on the ground. The foot soldiers who accompany them use pikes and spears, and other such weapons. The peasants are using nothing but their tools from their gardens, or household things. They are cut down without a fight, if they could fight, he would be very impressed. Joffrey swings his sword, and cuts a bloody arc through more peasants. They are numerous, that is why they have been sent to fight first. They can be killed, and Joffrey and his men will be tired. And yet, Joffrey has brought a veritable army with him, the peasants of Braavos are nothing of the sort. They are a rabble, and right now they are breaking.

The peasants begin to break and flee after the third wave of attacks. Joffrey laughs when he sees them running scared. “Archers, fire.” He barks, the command is passed down the lines, until the sky hums with arrows. He will not allow a single soul from Braavos to escape this. If the fools are not fighting alongside him, they will die. He warned them, and now they must pay the consequences. He watches uncaring as bodies are hit by arrows, sometimes a dozen, he watches unmoving as the bodies fall to the ground and pile up atop of one another. He watches all of this happen, and then when the bodies stop moving, when there is barely anyone left, he calls for a halt. “Prepare the advance.” He calls. He watches as the catapults are brought forward, dragging slowly against the ground. The palaces of the Braavosi merchants allied with the Sealord are in the distance. He can see them from here.

The catapults move slowly, and Joffrey counts the seconds before the next round of fighting will begin. So far he has not seen any member of the Faceless Men, though he supposes he wouldn’t, they’re supposed to be good at hiding their appearance from all. He looks around the field of battle. Bodies are scattered across the ground, clogging up potentially valuable pathways. More of the Braavosi lie dead, then Westerosi, that is a good sign. Yet there is something that is making him wonder. Something is missing here, what it is, he is not sure, but there is most definitely something missing. Shaking his head slightly, he calls his squire for a drink. As the boy comes forward, Joffrey sheathes his sword and removes his helm. He takes the drink from the boy, gulps it down and then asks for more. Killing is thirsty work.

As he drinks, he hears the catapults getting to work, he hands the empty cup back to his squire, and watches the work happen. Rocks are hurled at buildings that make up the defence into the city proper. He smiles as he hears buildings crumbling, their foundations being shook to their very core. He continues to watch, his eyes intent on the carnage unfolding before him. It is only when he hears a shout and hears the whir of an arrow that he realises he is exposed. Before he can act however, something embeds itself in his eye, and he screams. The pain is something else entirely. He holds for a second, then faints.

* * *

 

**“We are legion.”**


	66. Devil's Own

****

**“Life is a fleeting instance of things. Love, hate, pain, love again and then death. I do not know where we all stand on this. One thing I do know for sure is that there are times when it is unbearable, to see the ones you love suffering, and then there are times when you want to see them suffer. We might be above the rest, but we are human as well. And that terrifies me.”**

* * *

 

**Princess Rhaenys Targaryen**

Griffin’s Roost was impressive. Stout and well defended, they had taken it through trickery and guile, Aegon’s suggestion and it had worked. Now they controlled Griffin’s Roost, the castles and the land in the Rainwood, Estermont and Tarth. It was all beginning to look good for them. But she could tell by the way her brother was pacing backwards and forwards that something was bothering him. It was why she asks. “What is the matter, brother? What troubles you so?”

Her brother turns, he looks handsome, very much so, but there is something deeply troubling in his eyes, as if he feels the strain. “There has been word from King’s Landing, our source there has been imprisoned.”

Rhaenys’ hands go clammy then, sweat appears. “How did they find out?” she asks, the eunuch had been very good at keeping his mouth shut on them.

“I think he said something and Stark simply used his brain for once. However, the source says not to worry, that he will be out soon enough.”

“He was the one who wrote to you?” Rhaenys asks surprised.

“Yes. He has his ways. He said not to worry, that all was still going according to plan, and that we should be prepared to move as soon as possible.” Aegon responds, but Rhaenys can tell that he is still worried.

“And what do you wish to do? We have the loyalty of the Rainwood, the Estermonts and the Tarths, we have the Marcher Lords as well. We just need to wait for the Dornish under Prince Oberyn and Prince Quentyn and we should be ready should we not?” Rhaenys asks.

Her brother is silent a moment, then he nods. “Yes.” A moment of silence and then he asks. “How do you feel?”

“About?” Rhaenys asks though she knows exactly what her brother is asking her.

“About Viserys marrying Arianne. I know you care for him.” Aegon says.

Rhaenys sighs. “I do not feel anything about it. It needs to be done. We need their support, and they want a Prince for their daughter.”

“They should not have demanded it. Arthur says that Uncle Doran was just making sure everything was completely concrete. But I do not think they should have demanded anything from their family.” Aegon responds.

Rhaenys moves to her brother and places a hand on his shoulder. “Uncle Doran is no doubt trying to make sure that they do not get hurt again. Father did abandon Mother after all.”

Aegon whirls around then, anger plain in his face. “And I am not Father. I will not abandon anyone. Dorne is my family as much as the rest of Westeros is. They are my people; I will not do as Father did. Surely Uncle Doran knows that?”

Rhaenys feels tears begin to pool in her eyes at the sound of pain in her brother’s voice, but she quickly blinks them away. “I know Aegon, we all do. But there are compromises that must be made for the throne.”

“That does not mean that I have to like making them.” Aegon grumbles. “Or forcing my family to make them.”

Rhaenys laughs. “Oh I know, and I appreciate that.” She hovers for a moment, uncertain of what to speak of next, then she decides on giving her brother some information. “Margaery Tyrell is betrothed to the usurper’s son, but you already knew that. However, I’ve had word that it seems the Tyrells are willing to make a switch and side with us. It seems they did not like the way the Lord Protector so casually dismissed the deaths of Lords Tyrell and Redwyne.”

Aegon’s eyes widen. “You mean they’re going to switch over Stark not showing enough grief?”

“I believe they are contemplating doing so. Stark has the usurper’s ear, and as such, I think they are thinking of ways to increase their own influence. They want to go up in the world, and I think they are realising they cannot do that under the usurper’s get or Stark.” Rhaenys responds.

“What do you suggest then? Uncle Oberyn will be raiding the Reach soon enough. No reach lord will want to fight for me if he does that.” Aegon points out.

“I’d advise you send Prince Oberyn toward Highgarden, not to sack the place, but to meet with the Tyrells and to discuss things with them. He has men with him, so if things get tricky he can always move out.” Rhaenys says.

Aegon shakes his head. “Sending him to Oberyn would be inviting the lion to feast on the lamb. No I think it would be better to ask him to come here to us. We shall need his experience soon enough.”

Something in her brother’s tone catches her attention then and forces her to ask. “What are you planning?”

Her brother’s eyes shift, and he moves from one foot to another. Eventually he says. “I think I might have come up with a way to make sure we gain many more supporters.”

Fearing what her brother is going to suggest, Rhaenys asks. “And what way is this?”

Her brother smiles, and Rhaenys feels her heart begin to quicken. “I say we go for a place that is central to the Baratheons, a place that we gave them. I say we go for Storm’s End.”

“How?” is all she asks.

“Through trickery and guile. I believe there are only around three hundred men guarding the place. They will need to answer a summons if they’re being threatened.” Aegon says confidently.

Rhaenys looks at her brother and asks. “Have you spoken to Jon or Viserys about this?”

Her brother shakes his head. “I wanted to bring it up with you first.”

Rhaenys sighs and says. “You want to go ahead with it, don’t you?”

“Yes. I think it makes the most sense.” Her brother says.

Resigned Rhaenys says. “Very well then.” Her brother smiles, and Rhaenys feels as though she might be writing their death warrants.

* * *

 

**“Howl like a wolf, and the witch will open the door.”**


	67. Well the Well

**“Worlds are colliding, the pain is near ending. Yet, we continue to dance around the issue at the heart of it all. We are riding towards destruction, there is little we can do. We must fight the tide, but the fight is slowly being sucked out of us. I think a time is coming where we might well need to find another way. What that way is, I do not know. I can only pray that I live to see it.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

“We hold much of the Old Drowned Town as well as parts of the Sealord’s quarters.” Renly says, giving a report to his nephew, the King and the council. “We are pushing hard into the northern and eastern parts of the new city.”

There is some positive murmuring at that, the King, with his face shrouded in darkness asks. “And how many men have we lost?”

Images of the bodies floating in the canals and the sea float into his mind, forcefully pushing them down, Renly says. “We have lost roughly four thousand men. The Braavosi have lost six times as many as us. And yet they continue to remain strong. More than that, I think the Faceless Men are doing most of the work.”

“That would not surprise me.” Ser Edmure says. “They are the ones fighting us now. The common people are the ones who were butchered when we launched our initial assault.”

The King’s face is expressionless, almost as if he does not care about that. His words emphasise that. “And the state of our equipment? How does that look?”

“We are holding strong. The weapons are being maintained properly Sire, as are the ships and siege equipment, all of them are being held strong.” Renly supplies.

“What word on the Redwyne Fleet. They were supposed to be here two moons ago, why have they not yet arrived?” the King asks.

Here Renly hesitates, word had come this morning about the Redwyne Fleet, but the message had been distorted. “They met a host of pirates as they crossed the Stepstones Sire, there was a battle, the Redwyne fleet was destroyed, and Lord Redwyne and his sons were captured or killed, and Lord Tyrell was killed as well.”

A shocked silence follows this pronouncement, he had told Loras the news this morning and his lover was still grieving. The King however, quickly regains his composure and then says. “How many ships the Redwyne fleet have?”

“Lord Redwyne took one hundred war galleys with him Sire.” Renly says, as he does so, he can tell just what the King is thinking. “I found that odd myself, but then I remembered that Lord Redwyne needed to leave ships behind to defend the Arbor in case something went wrong.”

The King nods. “And did Lord Redwyne not think to move away from the Stepstones when he realised he was under attack?”

“He did Sire. He tried to move back towards the Arbor, but the fleet of the Shield Islands intercepted him.” Renly responds, and he pauses and then says. “And they destroyed him.”

The King’s head jerks back as if he’s been slapped. “You mean to tell me the Shield Islands are fighting for rebels?”

“Yes Sire.” Renly supplies.

The King displays no outward show of emotion, his voice is dull and drab as if he is bored, but Renly can tell there is anger there. “Very well.” The King looks at the Maester they’d brought, one of five. “Send word to the Iron Islands. Tell Theon Greyjoy I want him to raid the Shield Islands. Destroy any piece of land that he finds, and kill anyone he finds. When he has done that he will have lordship over those islands. And if he is smart, the Arbor as well.”

The Maester writes the notes down, and though Renly has his own misgivings about that, he keeps them to himself. Instead, he asks the King. “What do you wish to do now Sire? We are in a strong position, but we cannot keep staying still, we need a decisive engagement and I do not think the Braavosi will give us that.”

“Do we know where the Faceless Men are based?” the King asks in return.

“The House of Black and White is a ruin, and now there does not seem to be any distinguishing features of any buildings that would indicate as such. However, that might well be the point.” Renly responds. “Would you recommend that we search every single building?”

“I would recommend that you burn every single building that is not in our own territory. I think it is time we taught these traitors the meaning of crossing the crown.” The King responds vehemently.

Renly is not surprised that the King has gone for this course of action, he sees the need for it as well. But Lord Blackwood seems horrified. “You would burn down the houses of the women and children who have done nothing wrong Sire?”

“I would have the traitors who sit on the other side of this town, shown what it means to turn against the crown who gave them freedom, and side with a man who is nothing but a leech. I should destroy the Faceless Men and ensure that they do not trouble my men ever again.” The King says.

Blackwood’s face has narrowed, but his words are compliant. “Very well Sire.”

Renly makes a note to keep an eye on the man, but for now he asks the King. “Are you well enough to lead the charge Sire?”

Here the King grumbles. “I cannot, my eye is not healed completely.” There is a whiteness to the King’s eye where once there was a haze of blue and green.

“Who will you give command to?” Renly asks, expecting the answer to be Ser Jaime.

“You, uncle.” The King responds.

“Me Sire?” Renly asks surprised.

“Yes. You are the senior member of the Royal Family here, and now you are my representative in the field.” The King responds. Renly bows his head in acceptance.

* * *

 

**“A Baratheon leading the burning of innocent civilians. What has this world come to?”**


	68. Listless

**“This was not an existence. Wandering around, knowing nothing, seeing nothing. I was discarded, I had no purpose, nothing. My parents did not know what to do with me. There was a war being waged around us, and they needed to focus on that. I could understand that, but I did not know why they were not also trying to help keep the family whole. We were fracturing, but nothing was done.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Sansa Stark**

Sansa stares listlessly into the abyss. Ever since the betrothal with the King was broken, she has not known what to do with herself. And so, she sits in her room knitting, but doing nothing else. Nothing worthwhile at least. Mother sits with her now, and Sansa knows what her mother is going to ask. So, she pre-empts it. “I am fine Mother.”

Mother purses her lips, then asks. “Are you certain Sansa? You’ve barely said three words to me the entire time I’ve been here.”

Sansa sighs. “I do not know what to say Mother. I was told I was to marry the King, I was led to believe that that was something I should look forward to and aspire toward. And now I am being told the King has broken the betrothal, so he can marry Lady Margaery. He did not tell me, and neither did Father. I learned through someone else. How am I to feel about that?”

Mother looks as if she wishes to protest that, but she knows exactly what protestation her Mother would use. Father was busy, Father had a war to plan for. That did not mean Mother could not tell her. Eventually, Mother relents and says. “You know your Father has not forgiven himself because of that.”

The humiliation Sansa felt when Lady Margaery told her about her betrothal still stings deep inside of her. She looks at Mother and says. “I do not know why. It has happened, it has happened. Is Father not the one who always says that we should keep moving forward, and not look back?”

Mother looks stunned then. “And are you?” A pause. “Moving forward?”

Sansa shifts slightly. “I do not know. I do not know what my place is here anymore. Before, I was the Prince’s betrothed, then the King’s betrothed. And now the King has broken the betrothal, and the whole court knows about it. I have heard the whispers Mother. The whispers that you and Father have tried so very hard to keep away from me. I know what they say.”

“Sansa.” Mother pleads.

“I do not need you to protect me from them Mother. I had someone say it to my face. That I was evidently a whore, and a barbarian savage, if the King was not going to have me. No one would.” Sansa replies tonelessly.

Mother’s eyes widen in a way Sansa would find comical normally. “Who said that to you Sansa?”

“I do not know, and it does not matter anymore.” Sansa replies. “Tell me Mother, what is my purpose here? Why am I still in King’s Landing?”

“Because your father and I, and your brother and sister are here.” Mother states. “Where else would you want to be?”

“Home.” Sansa responds firmly.

“Sansa,” Mother says. “Where your family is, is your home.”

“Robb and Jon are in the north; they are in Winterfell. Are they not family as well?” Sansa demands.

“So you are saying you want to go home, back to Winterfell?” Mother asks. “I had thought you’d want to stay and get to know the court. You were so excited about coming south.”

“I was excited because I thought I was going to be married to the future King of Westeros. I did not know that this would happen. That he would consider me so unsuitable for him, that he would break the betrothal, and instead marry one of my friends. I did not know that my father would not even tell me the reasons why the betrothal was broken, or if I had done something to make it so.” Sansa fumes. “I had thought for so long that I was doing everything right, but it is clear that I was not.” She looks at her Mother then, and she hates the fact that there are tears pooling in her eyes. “Is there something wrong with me Mother?”

“Oh Sansa,” Mother comes to her then, folding her into her arms as she would do when Sansa was a child. “There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all.”

“Then why did the King break off the betrothal? Why are people saying those things about me?” Sansa asks into her mother’s chest.

“Because people are fools Sansa. They would never be able to appreciate something, until it is gone or too late. As for the King, the King had his reasons, many of which were political.” Mother says.

Sansa looks at her Mother then, pulling up from her chest, and asks. “What political reasons?”

Mother looks as if she does not want to tell her, but then she relents and says. “He felt that Lady Margaery would better tie a region such as the Reach to the crown. A region that has always been traditionally divided when it comes down to war.”

“Why did he not come and tell me?” Sansa asks, not really sure if she is demanding an explanation or requesting one.

Mother sighs. “I do not know Sansa. All I know is that the King and your father both regret how you learned of the broken betrothal. And they wish that it could have happened differently. But often when there is war, these things tend to be forgotten.”

Sansa is not sure if she is happy with that answer, but asks all the same. “And what about the war? Will it come to King’s Landing?” she knows that is something that Bran dreads, the thought of having to fight again, and something Arya is desperate for.

“I do not know Sansa. I do not think so.” Mother responds. Sansa nods and then sighs.

“I am feeling a bit tired Mother; do you mind if I sleep for a while?”

“Of course not sweetling.” Mother replies, before kissing her on her cheek and turning and walking out of the room.

Sansa settles down onto her bed, closes her eyes and dreams of wolves and lost lions and dragons.

* * *

 

**“There is nothing but hate. When love is taken, hate survives.”**


	69. Burn

****

**“The city will burn. They will all burn. That is what the Mad King said before King Robert appeared. He wanted the world to end with him, the last Targaryen King taking the Targaryen city down with him. I killed him and saved the city, but the honourable Lord Stark called me a traitor. Pah, what does Stark know? The Man is an idiot. If the King does something foolish now, I will remove him and face Cersei’s wrath.”**

* * *

 

**Ser Tyrion Lannister**

The rocks were thrown and more buildings crashed down to the ground. Tyrion watches with empty eyes, he does not allow himself to feel anything. If he does, he thinks he might well scream. There has been so much bloodshed during this war, the Braavosi started it when they killed Lord Staunton and now the King is continuing it. He has seen heads dismembered from their bodies, he has seen children being mutilated in front of their mothers, and their mothers then being killed. Every single thing that he thought was only a legend has come true. Tyrion is not sure whether he thinks that is good, that he has learned it now, or bad, that he has learned it now. He knows he will never allow any son of his to find this war the way he has. He thinks it might continue for much longer than they all think.

The Braavosi peasantry are breaking that much is obvious to anyone with eyes, they are fighting a battle that is breaking them from within. The merchants, and the Sealord sit and plot and plan. The Faceless Men have taken many minor lords, no doubt to create a crisis at home when this war ends. The King remains in his command tent, being nursed back to health. Renly has taken command and he is doing the King’s bidding to the letter. Buildings are falling. The world is falling. The Peasants look as if they are seeing death coming for them, and he supposes that they are. The Westerosi have become death for the Braavosi, he would laugh, but he thinks right now that would be inappropriate. And so, he remains silent, Jaime at his side. They watch the carnage unfolding before them with no expressions on their face.

Screams, that is what he hears next. Someone screaming, lots of people screaming. Pain, lots of that. Tyrion tries not to flinch. The trebuchets are doing the work that men need not do. They are saving lives by doing this, but there is something about all of it that rings wrong with him. He is not sure if they should be doing this. So much life is being lost. So much is being damaged. He knows just what his father would say though. Lord Tywin would approve. He would commend his grandson for making sure the work was done, and that Westerosi lives were spared. Tyrion shifts his attention to his brother. Jaime looks as if he is far away, he does not seem as if he is here in the present. He seems to be mouthing something, but what it is, Tyrion does not know. He turns back to the destruction being wrought before them. When it stops, he sighs.

They begin the move through the wreckage. Bodies are just left to lie there, gathering dirt and dust and decay. There are no more screams thankfully, all the people who could have screamed are dead, or dying pitifully. Tyrion says a prayer, but he is not sure the gods will listen, they abandoned his family a long time ago. The weapons of destruction trundle along at the front. They move through abandoned streets, through deserted avenues. Nobody can be seen, likely they’re all hiding. Still Tyrion draws his sword, and his brother does the same. They cannot be too careful. Onward they move, through it all. When they come to the next place of destruction, Tyrion closes his eyes and listens as the wailing begins anew.

He thinks of his girls, how they are waiting for him. How they need him to come home. He thinks of the promise he made his wife when she died, he thinks of holding her again, of loving her. He thinks of so many things, anything to stop the sound of death and destruction from filtering through to him. He knows Jaime is doing something similar. They watch as the walls of an ancient and proud city are destroyed. As an ancient people are removed from the world. His sword does some of the killing as people try to rush at them. He takes no pleasure in it. Tyrion has known how to kill since he was but a boy. It fills him with no pleasure, but he does as is needed. Flames are licking a burning path throughout the city, the harbours will be safe under command of the King, but not anywhere else.

They ride onwards when this new part of the city has been dealt with. There is chaos everywhere, people are trying to flee, and on the order of the King they are killed. Tyrion does his duty, but he feels no pleasure in it. He sees two girls the same age as his own daughters killed, for simply being there. He tries to bury it all deep inside, but he knows that it will come up eventually. Sooner or later it will. The pain inside grows deeper, the anger manifests itself. He uses his sword and kills those who are not deserving. The true enemy hides somewhere inside, and they keep going. The city is destroyed bit by bit, as the Sealord hides behind the walls and the people like a coward. Through it all they keep going, marching in file, the Westerosi army determined to end the threat.

They come toward the border, the place they have not yet been able to breach, and as they stop, a man staggers forward. He is covered in blood, he bears crosses and seven swords, and as he falls down he mumbles. “The world is lost. The Lion has come home.” He falls and dies. And that, that is when the wall falls and they move into the final stages of the end.

* * *

 

**“We move now. We strike now. We end this, now.”**


	70. Dorne And Dust

**“We Targaryens have always had a complicated relationship with Dorne. We tried to conquer them twice, and somehow we failed. Then we brought them in through marriage. But the terms of the marriage led to another war, much bloodier and chaotic than anything that had preceded it. I do not want to allow my reign to be marred by that. I will not allow Dorne the freedom they so desire. They will bend to my will. And I will start today.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

“I trust your journey was smooth?” Aegon asks, looking at his two cousins with a sincere smile on his face.

“Oh it was alright. A bit stop and start when we crossing the Boneway, but other than that all well.” His cousin Arianne responds.

Aegon can see the way she looks at him and he knows precisely what she is thinking. It is something he cannot allow to grow. Quickly, he says. “Well I shall let you settle down for a little bit, before we get to business.” His cousins nod, and head off to their rooms. Aegon himself sits in the solar, the room that was once Lord Renly’s and ponders the next few moons. They had taken Storm’s End relatively easily, the odd trick, the odd killing, and they were in. Holding it would be more of an issue, but he had his men looking for the right candidate.

Once a few hours had passed, he summoned his cousins to attend him once more and spoke. “I trust you are well rested?” his cousins nod and he continues. “Good. How many men have you brought with you?”

“Five thousand spears, and two hundred horse.” Arianne replies instantly. “We brought the quickest and most agile of the Dornish levies.”

“And how many men does your uncle have?” Aegon asks deliberately putting some distance there.

“Our uncle,” the word uncle is emphasised. “Has with him four thousand spears and around three hundred horse.” Arianne says.

“And where is he right now?” Aegon asks.

“On the approach to Storm’s End. He has pushed his men quite hard.” Arianne replies.

Aegon nods. “Good, we shall have need of him and his resources soon enough.”

“How many men do you have with you?” his cousin queries.

“Roughly twenty-five thousand men.” Aegon supplies. “We are preparing for a full assault.”

“Where to? The Capital?” Arianne asks.

Aegon nods. “Yes. We must strike now, and fortify our position before the usurper’s get returns from Braavos. We have enough time to do so.”

“Are you not worried that Eddard Stark might summon someone from the Riverlands, or from the north?” Arianne asks.

“The north is many miles away, and we have sent an offer out to handle the Stark heir. We shall be looking toward the West. Tywin Lannister has remained oddly quiet whilst his grandson’s realm has been taken over.” That had been a concern of his, and it still is. Something that continues to nag at him. “Lannister will be the main issue, and until he is dealt with, I will not worry about the north.”

As he has hoped, his cousins look at one another surprised. “If Lannister is the issue, why are you moving toward King’s Landing? Why not simply fight him or draw him out into battle?”

Aegon smiles. “That would be the way Oberyn would do it. that would even be the way Viserys would do it. I would rather think long term here.” Here he looks at Quentyn and smiling says. “You shall be the one to deal with Tywin Lannister.”

“H..how?” his cousin stammers.

“A marriage to his granddaughter.” Aegon responds.

“How? How will she get out from the city, and why would Tywin Lannister allow that to happen?” Arianne demands.

“Our mutual friend is working towards getting her out as we speak. Furthermore, Tywin Lannister is all about legacy. If Quentyn marries Myrcella Baratheon, he has a claim on the Rock, as well as being cousin to the King, and a potential claimant to Storm’s End. A marriage that would give Tywin Lannister a tie to the new regime as well. It would be too irresistible for him.” Aegon supplies.

“Are you certain of this?” Arianne asks.

“Yes.” Aegon replies, then deciding to close the matter, he says. “You will be marrying Viserys before we depart.”

“I…Will?” his cousin asks hesitantly.

“Yes.” Aegon states. “Arianne, we must ensure that we are tied solidly together. Your father knows we are blood, but he wishes for a more secure form of marriage. You will marry Viserys, here in the Sept of Storm’s End, where once Orys Baratheon wed Argella Durrandon. From there, the Dornish army you have provided will march out with mine own forces to take King’s Landing, and ensure justice for all that was done.” He takes a moment to pause, to allow his words to settle in, then he continues. “You will have time to get to know Viserys, a week, no more. I suggest you use that time wisely.”

Arianne’s mouth has slackened a little, but she eventually straightens and says. “Very well. I will. Is there anything else you require from us?”

“No, you may go.” Aegon says. He watches his cousins get up, bow and then leave. Once they are gone, he remains seated in the great chair of Storm’s End, and calls out. “Tell me, do you believe we shall succeed?”

A giggle sounds and then a voice replies. “Yes Your Grace, I do.”

“And why is that?” he asks.

“The web we have concocted is too powerful to be felled by such a man as Eddard Stark. Even the usurper’s son will never see it, before it is too late.” The voice replies.

“Good. See to it that the spider remembers.” Aegon commands.

“Yes Sire.” The voice replies before it slivers away.

* * *

 

**“See the shapes as they bleed. See the world as it fades. See destiny forged by fire. Enjoy the everlasting ire, the world’s funereal pyre.”**


	71. Persons Of Interest

****

**“Chaos, it is a ravaging word. The world it breeds is one that many fight to stop. Failing to understand that we are all living in chaos. One moment we are born, the next we are told to fight in a world where the lies we were told do not exist, and we are to accept that. This is the world we live in. The world does not make sense. You have to force it and break it, so that it does. If you get called a monster whilst doing so, then that is fine. So long as you live to tell the tale.”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

“What have you found?” Joffrey asks.

His uncle shifts on his horse. “A lot of the Braavosi do not know where the Sealord and his backers are hiding Sire. They merely know that they have been told to stand and not to move. I think that was why so many of them remained.”

“They wanted to die?” the King asks surprised; he had not expected that.

“Yes. I think they did not want to be here anymore. The war…it has done many things.” His uncle responds.

Joffrey considers this, cocking his head, then he says. “And do you know where the Sealord is now?”

Renly shakes his head. “No Sire. It seems that his palace was empty, as were the mansions of his supporters. They have disappeared into the ground. I think we might have a more serious issue.”

“And what is that?” Joffrey asks though he thinks he knows what it will be.

“Now that the Sealord is gone, there will be much easier for the Faceless Men to carry out their business as they please.” Renly responds.

Joffrey snorts. “You think that they have been restrained? My Lord, need I remind you of the carnage that has been visited on us all?” He gestures behind him, to where they have seen Braavosi who fought for them gutted like pigs, all left with the coins of the dead. “The Faceless Men have no restraint. Now tell me, where might the Sealord be?”

“I am not sure Sire.” Renly says.

Joffrey sighs. He nods to his uncle and then looks at his other uncles. “Ser Tyrion, Ser Jaime, what do you have for me?”

Ser Tyrion, heir to the Rock and a handsome man speaks. “We know that the Sealord had begun breaking down the walls of the palace, and taking the gold from within. It seems he wanted to make sure that there was nothing absolutely nothing left, when we arrived. Furthermore, all of the lesser servants were killed.”

“Lesser servants?” Joffrey asks uncertain of his uncle’s meaning.

“Those who were mainly shit cleaners Sire.” His uncle Jaime provides.

“And why would he kill them? What could they know?” Joffrey enquires.

“Nothing. But they were nothing to him. They were not from any of the important families in Braavos, and thus nothing more than a burden. The Sealord decided he was better off killing them.” Ser Tyrion answers.

“I see.” Joffrey replies. “Tell me, how many Braavosi have died because of my plan?”

“I am not sure Sire. Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands.” Renly supplies.

Joffrey nods, the number sinking in. His eye that was struck by the arrow is sightless, he took his revenge on the city for that. He wonders if that was the right move. He is mounted on a horse, he is armoured, he commands now. He cannot hide from what has happened, nor can he look to take it back. He must instead stand firm and ensure all is ready. He swallows, wondering what his father would do. He never knew, he never asked. He takes another breath, counts to three, then says. “I want to know where the Faceless Men are. I will speak with them.”

That draws a lot of muttering. “Are you sure that is wise, Sire? They will want you dead.” Uncle Jaime says.

Joffrey stares at his uncle. “I am fully aware of that Ser. But I shall see the place where my greatest enemy rests. I will look into their eyes before I kill them all.” Something in his words makes his uncle wince, and he wonders at it, before turning his attention to his other uncle.

“I think I might be able to find a way to them Sire.” Lord Renly says.

“Then do so. And make sure you do it quickly. I will not stay here for long.” Not in Braavos, the city is beginning to grate at him, and word from Westeros is not good. He sees his uncle disappear into the city accompanied by thousands of men. He waits for a moment and then says to his uncles. “Ser Jaime ride with me. Ser Tyrion hold the line.” With that he spurs his horse forward, Ser Barristan and the Hound following at a distance, Ser Jaime following just behind him. As they ride, he speaks. “Tell me Ser, what do you make of Braavos.”

“It is a city, and like any city it stinks.” His uncle replies simply.

“And do you think we can make it our city? The city of the crown?” Joffrey asks.

His uncle looks at him, uncertain. “I do not know Sire. There are many things that go into ruling, and conquest. Many of the people of Braavos have died. Where would you find people to replace them?”

“People of Westeros could come and settle here. Those who are minor lords, they could be made into great ones here.” Joffrey responds. He has been thinking about this for some time.

His uncle nods. “I suppose that yes, they could. The question is, what do you want to do with them?”

Joffrey mulls over the question, and whispers. “I want to make a city great, I want to make sure that the world remembers Westeros, and that the people here have a chance to do right by themselves and their loved ones. Perhaps I have gone by this the wrong way. But I know that something needed to be done.”

Ser Jaime nods and then says. “Then perhaps you must continue.”

* * *

 

**“I will be back. For my home.”**

 


	72. Worry

**“It is a parent’s duty to worry about their child. When you hold a bundle of life in your arms, there is a feeling you get, it is hard to describe properly. But there is such a strong bond, you want to hold that little thing in your arms for all eternity, to protect it from the world, to cherish it, to love it. That feeling never goes away, even when your children are grown and they tell you that they don’t need your help. Nothing hurts more than hurting your child, but sometimes, you must hurt them to protect them.”**

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark**

“Sansa is still wavering after the broken betrothal.” Catelyn says, as the evening light begins to dim.

Her husband looks at her and she immediately regrets bringing it up, she knows just how much the broken betrothal and the way their daughter found out hurts him, and yet she knows she needs to talk about it. “What did she say?” Ned asks.

“She said she wanted to go home. That she wanted to leave. But I talked to her and I think I understand why now.” Catelyn says, at her husband’s raised eyebrow, she continues. “She did not think she had a place here anymore. For she was no longer the King’s betrothed, she was just the former betrothed of the King.” She pauses, then continues. “I talked to her, and she gets that whilst she might be the King’s former betrothed, she is still our daughter, she is still Sansa Stark. I think she felt better after that.”

Ned is silent for a long time after she has finished speaking and she wonders what troubles him, but eventually he says. “I have not been a very good father, have I?”

“Ned...” Catelyn begins, but her husband interrupts her.

“No Cat, it’s true. I’ve spent far too much time worrying about other things, and not enough time considering my own children. For Gods’ sake, Sansa found out about her broken betrothal from the Tyrell girl. I can completely understand why she would be hurt and angered. And I did nothing. I merely got on with my work, as if I was father.” Ned says, his voice filled with anguish.

“You’ve had a lot of work to do Ned.” Catelyn says. “You’ve had a war to plan and execute.”

“I will not make excuses, not like father.” Ned responds.

“Ned?” Catelyn asks confused.

Her husband sighs. “Whenever it came to things that went wrong with us as children, father would always make excuses, saying he was too busy. What he was busy doing we never knew, but he was always busy. Before she left, I think Lyanna said that.”

Catelyn looks at her husband dumbfounded, she’s never heard her husband speak of his sister like that. But before they can dwell on the issue she says. “Arya seems to be enjoying her lessons with Syrio.”

Her husband looks uncertain. “Are you sure? I have had my doubts about keeping her in those lessons, but I do not know how she would react if I took her out of them.”

“I think she should be safe. Syrio trains her, but I’ve kept four men watching in the shadows all the time.” Catelyn supplies.

Ned smiles gratefully. “Always thinking three steps ahead.”

Catelyn smiles in return and then says. “I also think Bran has been spending a lot of time with Prince Tommen, more so than usual. I have barely seen him here.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ned asks.

“I do not think so, but it is concerning that he feels more able to talk to someone he has only just met than his own parents.” Catelyn says. “Do you think we made the wrong choice by not speaking to him after you came back from the Twins?”

She wants her husband to reassure her, but this time he sighs. “I do not know Cat. I thought at the time that we were making the right decision. Now, however, I am not sure.”

“Why do you say that?” Catelyn asks.

“I think that there are some things that must be spoken about as soon as possible, whilst there are other things that need not be spoken about. What Bran saw, is one of the things that needs to be spoken about as soon as possible. I just worry that with what is to come we might be too late.” Her husband replies.

“Has it gotten as bad as that?” Catelyn asks, not really sure what she is actually asking.

“Storm’s End has fallen to the Targaryen boy; the Reach is tearing itself apart. The Stormlands has deserted the Baratheon cause and is rallying to the boy. The Riverlands is just about clinging together. The crownlands are an uncertain coalition of forces. Yes, it has gotten quite bad.” Her husband supplies.

She knew about the fall of Storm’s End but the rest of it, is something that shocks her. “Has Tywin Lannister actually made to move from his rock?” she asks.

“Yes, finally. He is marching a force into the Reach. I believe he wants to take more land for himself. Just as Theon has taken the Shield Islands and is moving toward the Arbor. I believe those who purport to be our allies are merely going to make more grabs for land.” Ned replies bitterly.

“Surely Tywin Lannister would not leave his own grandson’s throne to be threatened by those such as the Targaryens?” Catelyn asks.

“I do not know. All I know is that I have sent ravens summoning the forces of the north and the vale to help defend the capital. Whether Lysa will answer them I do not know. I do know that Robb and Jon are marching south.” Ned replies.

“What will happen if the Targaryen boy comes to King’s Landing before they do?” Catelyn asks.

Her husband stares at her and says. “I will fight him and I will defend this city.” She feels a shiver go up at his words.

* * *

 

**“Broken before the storm, broken before the lies of the world. Now suffer my revenge.”**


	73. Broken Down, Shot Up

**“There is a time and place for everything. There is a time and place for everything. I do not know how many times I heard that as a child. When we had to hide from threats, that I am not even sure existed. I was a shy child, someone who never really ventured forth, not like Rhaenys or Egg. But I watched and learned. And now, now I think I know why they did the things they did. I just hope it’s not too late.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

The wedding ceremony had gone just fine, Viserys and Arianne made a lovely couple, and though there were moments where Rhaenys had looked as if she might be sick, she had eventually come around and was smiling and laughing with the rest of them. That had been some time ago though, and now they were back to the business of trying to reclaim the Iron Throne. Uncle Oberyn had arrived some time ago as well, with his army, and with the armies of other allies, and so now they were preparing to discuss what needed to be done next. “Winter will soon be setting in.” there were nods, it was obvious but he still needed to point it out. “We shall need to make our move as quickly as possible. Lord Errol, you have been to King’s Landing a fair time since the usurper ascended the throne, and you know the procedures of those there. Tell us, what do you think they will be planning.”

Lord Errol is a big and burly man, and though some might assume that because of that he is not smart, he demonstrates a keen wit and intelligence when he speaks. “They will be preparing for the shortage of food coming from the Reach and the Riverlands. Indeed, I would not be surprised if they were already beginning to drain supplies from the common man within the city, as well as from without. A harsh but necessary measure, that will greatly anger the people of King’s Landing.”

Aegon considers this and then asks. “And with the food shortages they shall be suffering with the fighting in the Reach, what do you imagine the council will be advising Stark to do?” that the man had flat out rejected his offer had stung, but there was still hope.

“I believe they will advise him to do whatever is necessary to keep the Red Keep supplied and running. If the Red Keep runs out of food they will surrender regardless of the morale of the people. But if they do what they suggest, then the people will turn on them eventually.” Errol says.

“And you will get to play the hero Sire.” Viserys says. “How very fitting.”

“Well, perhaps we all will.” Aegon responds. He turns and looks at his uncle and asks. “Prince Oberyn, tell me, what word have you had from Lord Willas within the capital? Has he mentioned anything about the alliance?”

“He mentions that Stark is beginning to crumble under the pressure. That the usurper’s get has not yet replied to any letters that have been sent out, and that he is reconsidering his allegiances.” Oberyn supplies.

“Tyrell would turn whilst still in the city?” Viserys asks surprised. “How many men does he have?”

“He has around three hundred green cloaks with him, inside the city. And he has more than enough friends and allies within the bankers and merchants of the city to make a turn viable and probable. Should we advance northwards, I think we would see Stark cave into pressure.” Oberyn says.

“You think Tyrell would not look to hold a grudge for the way the Reach has been insighted to burning itself?” Aegon asks curiously.

“Willas understands that some things need to be done in the name of war and justice. He would not hold a grudge. Not when the war in the Reach is removing all of his potential enemies for him.” Oberyn says.

“And when you add that we are promising to ransom his brother and cousin in exchange for support, I believe he would be amenable.” Viserys adds.

“Very true.” Aegon states. He then thinks on the issue most pressing for him. “Tywin Lannister finally entered the field, invading the Reach. Do you think he is fighting simply for himself to add more land to the West? Or is he doing it for his grandson?”

“I believe that he is doing it for more land, and to ensure that he is seen as doing something for his grandson. If the plan to take Princess Myrcella from King’s Landing works, he will be stuck.” Oberyn adds.

“We shall need Lord Varys freed before we can proceed with that. How are your allies within the capital progressing on that matter?” Aegon asks.

“Well enough. They are making sure everything is in place first before they do the deed.” Oberyn responds.

“Very well.” Aegon states. “Now then, let us move from that and onto the actual taking of King’s Landing. The city has several thick defensive walls, and a city watch that as we last heard was around three thousand strong. Where are the breaches within the walls?”

There is a long silence following that question, and then eventually Lord Connington speaks. “I would say that the walls can be broken down through siege weaponry, which we have in more than enough numbers. However, I would not recommend doing that, if you wish to win the people over, then I would rely not on having the walls down, but rather have the Baratheons terrify the people into siding against them.”

“So a siege?” Aegon asks. “Or do you mean through burning the lands around, and trying to tempt Stark out into open combat.”

“I would avoid that.” Connington replies. “Do not tempt him out into the field, make him break from the inside.”

Aegon wants to ask how, but instead merely nods. “Very well then. I believe if we leave for the capital within the week, that should be more than enough time.” There is a general murmur of agreement and the meeting comes to an end.

* * *

 

**“Life after death.”**


	74. Relish, Not The Pain

**“There are bodies piling higher and higher within the city. The walls are beginning to crumble, and I do not know whether or not we will ever make it out of here alive. If we do not, I want the world to know the truth. Tell them of the pain and the pressure. Of the fight that has never left. Of the horrors of the end. If we do leave however, I will never speak a word of this to anyone. For there are some things that just are never meant to be.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Renly Baratheon**

The carnage had begun once more. The King set the task, and now they were carrying it out. Whether they were all willing to embrace the darkness that was calling to them, well that was a completely different matter. All that Renly knew was that there was a job to be done, and whether he liked it or not, he would see it done. The ride was a long and tiresome one. Braavos was more ruin than city now. But there were still pockets of resistance, and it was those that they were dealing with. Crushing them beneath the soles of their feet, of their horses’ hooves. It was dirty work, and Renly was not sure that any amount of repentance could ever truly make up for the carnage that were inflicting here. He was not sure that he wanted to repent. The Braavosi had started this whole thing, and now they were finishing it.

There are children and women lying face down in the dirt. Their bodies will be moved soon enough, to make way for fires and for weapons. It is a bloody business this thing. War has never sat pretty in his head, despite what he might say aloud. He remembers all too clearly the Siege of Storm’s End and the chaos that brought. He remembers seeing children he had played with dying and being fed to the animals, only for the animals to be butchered for meat as well. It is a cold and cruel world they live in, and those not fortunate enough to be sitting where he is now, will never escape the cycle of pain and death as it comes for them. He supposes that they are never meant to. That if there are gods, they intended for it to be this way. Anything else would be a contradiction to them. And that, he has learned is never a good thing.

He hears the screams as the weapons get to work. He fights to suppress them from reaching his inner core. He cannot function if he is too busy worrying about someone he does not even know. Loras is at his side, decked out in Tyrell finery, ready and prepared for anything that might or will come. They sit and watch as the savagery unfolds before them. Somewhere far away in the other end of the city, the King and his uncle Ser Tyrion are carrying out exactly the same thing they are doing here. Destruction of buildings as old as King’s Landing itself, some even older. In order to find the group who are preventing this war from ending. The Faceless Men have earned their name. They hide in the shadows, allowing for their city and their people to take the hit. They are not true men, they are cowards, and as such, Renly knows that when the King finds them, it will not be mercy he gives them, it will be death.

That is a fate he thinks even a man like Lord Blackwood, who balked at some of the killing that needed to be done before, will agree on. They have all come to hate the Faceless Men and their sly and cruel ways. As the weapons continue to groan out in defiance of the enemy, Renly knows that the people of this city will never welcome them again. Whatever, few people are left, they will be too broken and too filled with hate to make holding onto Braavos a proper probability. Better to give the city back to those few who sit within it, and allow them to rebuild. Safer as well, less chance for more murdering and more pillaging. They have already stripped Braavos of everything it has to offer, be it gold, or women, or even the odd freeman who will be sold off. They continue making their way through the streets, streets that were once bustling with life, are now filled with emptiness. It is haunting.

Renly keeps his mind drifting, but he does not allow it to drift so much that he loses track of where he is. He knows there are traitors lurking somewhere within the city, within the street walls. He will not be caught out by them, and so he allows himself to drift, allowing his horse to follow Loras’. They move through the streets, seeing nothing but rivers of blood, a fitting statement, he thinks, for what has been a bloody and brutal campaign. They continue, moving slowly, and steadily. The men at the front, with the weapons are calm and experienced. They have been doing this for moons now, and so they will not flinch at the first sign of trouble. Rather they will continue to stand tall, and do their duty. This is what this is all about. That is what he is telling himself. That duty necessitates putting aside any sort of proper sense of decency. The King has commanded him to carry out a task, and carry it out he will.

A groan sounds and then the roof falls. A building crumbles, a shout goes out. Renly follows the man who comes looking for him. When they stop at the exact place where he believes the roof fell down, he smiles. “Send word to the King. Tell him we have found it. Tell him we have found the entrance to hell.” The man nods and hurries away. Renly looks at Loras and feels his smile widen. Soon they will have revenge, for everything.

* * *

 

**“Death has come for us Mistress.”**


	75. King's Landing

**“I never thought for one moment that I would be here, fighting within King’s Landing to protect the city. I have despised King’s Landing for as long as I can remember, and yet now? Now I am here to defend it. Life has taken many twists and turns as of late, and I do not know if I can make it through the next one, or the one after that. Something suggests to me that this might be the greatest battle ever fought. Perhaps we shall win. Perhaps we shall lose. Whatever happens, my family will be safe.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

“Prepare the arrows.” Ned barks, standing as he does on the centre wall, looking down over the entire city and the outskirts. An army is outside, preparing to batter their way in. Aegon Targaryen, wearing his father’s armour had appeared outside the walls of the city, demanding that they speak to one another. They had spoken, but Ned was never going to surrender the city to the boy. He had sworn a vow, and he meant to keep it. Words were exchanged, insults were exchanged, and then the boy and his army had moved backwards, and now they were coming forwards. They were going to try and take the city, whether they succeeded or not would be a completely different matter. Ned hoped that the walls would hold. Reports were sketchy at best about the other crownlords, but they had men and they had the walls. There was no sign of a fleet coming from anywhere, so that was good. The army gets closer, and Ned calls out. “Light arrows, then fire.” He watches as the first shots of this fight are exchanged.

The arrows fire back and forth, Ned watches, feeling the air around him hum with activity. There is a heat that was lacking before. They are now in the process of fighting for their lives. What happens when the night ends, he does not know, but he knows that he will not surrender now. Catelyn, Sansa and Arya and Rickon are hiding within the Maidenvault, there is a ship waiting to take them to the north should something go wrong here. Bran and Prince Tommen are with him, fighting on the walls. Commanding, something he could never have thought to do at their age. Whatever ails his son, he is doing a fine job of marshalling the archers. Bran has always favoured a bow over a sword, and though, that is not something Ned finds appropriate, for now he approves. The arrows continue to fly, and somehow, they do not lose too many men. As a dull moment approaches, he looks at Jory and says. “Prepare the flame crossbows.” A new invention this, and one that might prove more useful. His captain nods and then begins getting to work. The arrows are fired off, and the screams echo into the night.

As the arrows begin to stop, Ned orders his men to prepare for the assault son the western and eastern side. Assaults he has been warned about through scouting reports. The boy pretender had tried to draw him out to fight in the Kingswood, Ned had refused though, and now they are facing catapults and other such weapons of destruction.  “Prepare the fire.” Ned says, as the machines come whirring into sight. As the vats of fire and oil are prepared, Ned counts down the seconds, the minutes, counting to make sure that there is nothing left out. He looks around, seeing that his son and Prince Tommen are at his side, he looks at Jory and then nods. The vats are poured down, men begin screaming, the catapults are unleashed and the walls on the western side shake, but they hold. “Unleash.” He roars, and the command spreads. The western side becomes a hub of activity. Catapults and vats of burning oil mixing together into a poisonous cocktail of substances. Ned moves from his wall down to where the fighting is happening. He asks for a state of affairs receives positive news and then moves off to other sides. Elsewhere, the situation is not as positive, counts are coming in, walls are being dented, but they are holding for now.

Ned hurries up a set of stairs when he hears shouts of pain. He looks toward the distant walls, and sees people falling, as the walls begin to cave. “We need aid on the north western wall.” He barks. Then he runs down the steps and moves towards the side where there are enemy soldiers waiting. He nods to his son and Bran begins unleashing arrows at a startling rate-when did his son become so good- the men begin forming rank again, as the chaos begins to die down slightly. The enemy has not yet managed to break through, but they are close, so very close. “More oil!” Ned roars. “We need more oil.” The word is passed around and then they move forwards. The men on the enemy side begin screaming, and flames begin to lick away at them. He hopes and prays that the fighting will stop. It does not seem as if it has been that long, but when he risks looking, the sun is rising into the sky. The push gets harder as the sun rises properly, and the men suddenly feel tired. Seven hells, he feels tired. The roar in his voice is slowing down. He is not sure how much longer he can keep doing this. He looks down at his leg, and sees an arrow protruding from it. He wonders how that got there. Then he shakes the wonder off, and keeps pushing.

Tiredness fills his every pore as he walks up steps to observe the enemy host retreating. He knows they will be back, but for now they have succeeded. Aegon Targaryen’s confidence will have been knocked back. Perhaps now they might manage without the aid of the crownlords, or the other fools who are there threatening them. He hopes so. Robb and the northern army are some ways away yet. He takes a breath then orders for builders to come and begin rebuilding. Perhaps they have some time now. He hopes so. Though he is not sure.

* * *

 

**“Tiredness.”**


	76. Legion

**“There is a sense of chaos within the world. A sense that the natural order has been disturbed. There has only been two times in history before now that this has happened. When the Targaryen dynasty took power in Westeros, and when the Targaryen dynasty fell. Now that the disturbance has come back again, we must wonder, how will it all end. The fighting, the bloodshed, the anarchy, it is all coming to a head. The question remains, how will we all stand when all is said and done.”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

Joffrey pulls up beside his uncle, their men mixing together once more. “You are certain that this is the place?” he asks.

“I am Sire. Look at the way the building has been designed, the way it holds, the way it was out of the way. This is the place.” Lord Renly supplies.

Joffrey thinks for a moment and then he says. “Very well, let us enter.” They move their horses forward, pushing passed the wreckage that precedes them and they ride under the archways, looking through the dark, deserted corridors and eventually as they come to what must be the main room, they find one man standing there waiting for them.

“Joffrey Baratheon.” The man says his voice light, but tense. “I have been waiting for you.”

Joffrey stops his horse and his men stop as well. “Who are you?” he demands.

The man laughs. “I am the one you seek. I am the Faceless Man.”

Joffrey looks at him, thinking him mad. “I was expecting there to be more of you. Where are they?”

“Gone.” The man says. “Dead. Killed by your men, and by my own hand. I do believe we are now going to finish what your father started.”

Joffrey is silent for some time, and then he dismounts from his horse, and removes his helm, handing it to his squire. He stands before the man and says. “Talk.”

The man chuckles. “What do you wish to know?”

“Where is the Sealord? Why does he hide behind you and the Faceless Men? Why does he not back up his words with steel?” Joffrey demands.

“The Sealord is dead.” The man replies. “He died during the fighting. You did not know him, for you had never seen him. But he died a long time ago.”

“So who has been leading the resistance?” Joffrey asks.

“I have.” The man says simply.

“You?” Joffrey exclaims. “You are the leader who has been causing my men such trouble. How?”

“I am old, but I am not stupid. I know the way through this world and the next. I have done this more times than I can remember. But my time has come to an end.” The man says simply.

Joffrey stands silent, and still. His mind racing with the words that he has just heard. He is amazed by this. One man could do all of this, all of the chaos and needless bloodshed. Though, perhaps he would have kept the pretence up and ensured that such a thing would’ve still happened. He looks at the man then and asks. “How are you still functioning properly?”

Here the man snorts. “I am old not an invalid. I have my ways of moving. Ways I have learned, and ways that have often proved useful for me.”

“The Sealord. Was he chosen by the Targaryens?” Joffrey asks.

“Yes. They wanted a distraction. As I am sure you know. They have caused quite the stir in Westeros.” The old man says.

“I am surprised that you deigned to work with them. I would have fought you’d have hated the Targaryens.” Joffrey says.

“I do.” The man says simply. “But I needed the funds and they were willing to pay a lot for this.”

“I see.” Joffrey says. “Well, let us finish then shall we. Will you fight?”

“No. I am done fighting.” The man says. He puts down his weapons and extends his hands in surrender. “Do the deed and let us finish this.”

Joffrey nods, he draws his sword from its sheathe, says a prayer and then he points the sword in seven places on the man, as he does so he says. “I, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, King of Westeros, Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, and King of Braavos, do hereby declare your life forfeit. In the name and light of the Seven I declare you dead.” Once that is done, he plunges his sword deep into the man’s chest, watching as blood pools out from the man’s mouth. He pulls his sword out of the man’s chest, and hands it to his squire for cleaning, he turns back around and looks at his uncle Renly. “Burn this place.” He gets on his horse, taking his now cleaned sword and sheathing it, before turning and riding out of the hovel.

As he rides out of the building, Joffrey cannot help but feel as if this has changed everything. Now they are done with Braavos he can focus on Westeros, and stopping this fool pretender. He leaves the building, and soon enough his uncles and men join him. They watch the home of the Faceless men as it burns, being broken down into nothing more than ash and rubble. As the flames lick the sky, Joffrey looks at his uncle and says. “We shall leave on the morrow. I think we have spent more than enough time here.” His uncle nods and they turn and leave, riding back to their camp. The city has fallen; the people are dead. Enough has been done, he will sort out Braavos once the time is right. For now, it is off to Westeros and to defend his throne.

* * *

 

**“Time has come for me, Mistress. I am sorry, I failed. But now I might rest. I think I will like that. The worry has gone. The city has fallen. My duty is done, and the time has come for me to sleep. I will see you soon enough Mistress. When the darkness comes and the flames have died.”**


	77. Not Giving Up

****

**“We were forced to retreat. That does not mean defeat. On the contrary, there is a chance for us to make something here. We know where the strengths and weaknesses are. We know where there are improvements to be made. We have the advantage. We would be fools not to take it. I will not go quietly into the night, to hide and stutter. I will fight for what is mine.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

“We took a hit during the first attempt to take King’s Landing. That does not mean we need to stop. It means we learn from where we went wrong and we move forward.” Aegon says.

“The men are quite demoralized; how do you suggest we get them over their fear of boiling oil and fire?” Viserys asks.

The oil had been something he’d not expected, foolishly, he had thought it would done the traditional way. Now he knows differently and he says. “We prepare our own weapons to counteract them. I do not think Stark will use the same methods twice. But if he does we shall have our own answers.”

“And if they go wrong?” Viserys asks.

“Then we shall suffer the consequences.” Aegon replies. “We must make move before Stark has time to consolidate his position within King’s Landing.”

“And do you think that he will?” Viserys asks.

“I think he will try desperately. The man showed that he was willing to do many things during the time we tried to take the city. He will do something more this time.” Aegon says.

“And what more do we need to do then? Using oil will not be enough to take the city.” Viserys questions.

“We need more siege weapons, and we need more time to plan, and time to distract and cause chaos. Stark did not take the bait in the Kingswood, and now he will be expecting something similar. We need a new diversion.” Aegon says.

“And what would you suggest?” Viserys asks.

It is Connington who speaks then. “I would suggest that we send batches of men out to attack the city. This will draw attention away from the main forces that will be heading toward the city. I would also suggest that Lords Celtigar and Velaryon and Rykker use their power to advance from the north to hit the city as well. Once Stark’s attention is focused on them, then we may strike.”

“And should Stark come to be aware of this, what then?” Viserys asks.

“Then we shall need to adapt our plans.” Connington says simply.

Viserys snorts, but before he can say anything, Prince Oberyn speaks. “I believe we shall need to use some of our sources within King’s Landing to create a bit of chaos. I think the time has come for us to use more systematic systems and trickery to take the city.”

“I agree with Prince Oberyn.” Aegon says. “I want us prepared to leave for King’s Landing before the week is out. We shall march and we shall take the city.” There are murmurs of agreement, and then Aegon speaks once more. “Now there are a few other things we must discuss. First and foremost, The Tyrells.”

“What about them?” Viserys demands, sounding more resigned than tired.

“Lord Willas remains within King’s Landing, and whilst his brother has been sent to rally the forces of the Reach to our side, the fact that there is fighting still happening within the Reach, suggests to me something is happening within there that is beyond our control.” Aegon says.

“You think they are trying to play both sides against each other, to drive the best outcome?” Oberyn asks. “Willas has not said anything about this to me.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. He is not such a great fool to make sure his plans are clearly laid out for us all to read. Even if you two are as you say you were.” Aegon says. “I think we must take into account as well the fact that Tywin Lannister continues to rampage across the Reach, burning and pillaging and adding more wealth to his coffers. The forces of the north are descending as well. And I think we will have more than enough trouble on our hands.”

“What word has there been from the north? Has the Stark heir accepted your proposal?” Viserys asks.

“No he has not. It seems his loyalty to the usurper’s get runs deeper than we were led to believe.” Aegon replies ruefully. “I think we perhaps need to consider other options for the north. Perhaps making an offer to Stark himself.”

“Do you think Stark will accept such an offer, when he did not accept the offer the first time?” Viserys asks.

Aegon sighs. “I do not know.” And he feels his heart sink. “I think we must make the offer once more, to ensure that we at least do the right thing.” What the right thing is, he does not know anymore, but perhaps this will be the thing that sorts it.

“And what about Rhaenys and Daenerys, do they remain in Storm’s End, or do they join us?” Viserys asks.

“They remain in Storm’s End. I think that is for the best.” Aegon replies, and then noticing the way uncle Oberyn is looking at Viserys he adds. “Arianne will remain in Storm’s End as well.” He sees Oberyn relax, and then asks. “What of your daughters’ uncle, where are they?”

“Obara has been out patrolling, Nymeria is within the camp. Tyene is looking for things within the Kingswood.” Oberyn says.

“I want them back here within the next few days. It is time we prepare for the final assault. I will want the fleet manned and ready to attack King’s Landing as well.” Aegon says. “It is time that we make use of everything that we have.” There are nods of agreement at this, and finally Aegon says. “Let us move forward then.”

* * *

 

**“It is time we move forward. The lies are coming to an end. The world will know us for who we really are.”**


	78. The Final Show

**“War. The sound of drums, they pound across the sky, the world continues to move, forwards and backwards. The sky shakes with the echoing of pain. The time for action has come. Now we must make our move. We must ensure that the world does as it is intended. The time has come to finish it all. The rebellion will be ended and we shall win.”**

* * *

 

**Prince Aegon Targaryen**

His heart was racing. They were moving closer and closer towards King’s Landing. Toward the destiny he has been waiting for since he was a little boy and he was old enough to understand just what that meant. The banners of his family fly proudly in the air, the wind lapping at them, he stands taller. His father did not benefit from the unity as it stands within his ranks. He does, and he intends to make full use of it. There is a lot of good natured conversation as they move and discuss the things that will happen. The plans are quite clear, there is little left for the commanders to discuss, but still they must ensure that all is well. The Kingsguard glitter in the sunlight, they all do. He smiles, and they keep moving.

The city comes into view, and Aegon sees the weapons move into front position. There will be no terms this time. There will be nothing like there was the first time they came here. Now there will only be fighting and the end result will be victory. That much he is confident of. Prayers are said, and then the weapons begin moving into action. The drums sound so as to give the weapons a rhythm to move toward. One, the rocks are thrown, two, the drums move, three, the rocks are thrown, four, the rocks hit the walls. The ground shakes. This process repeats a number of times; they move backwards and forwards. Aegon watches, seeing this all unfold, feeling nothing but excitement. He is so close toward achieving what he needs to achieve, he can sense it. The assault continues and the ground shakes as the walls fall.

As the ground shakes, the distant sounds of battle reach him, and under his helm he smiles. Evidently, the walls had caved in slightly wherever the crownlords were fighting. As more of the walls on his side begin to fall under the bombardment they have received, he begins to draw his sword. They count down the minutes, a few here, a few there, they break for breath, then as the wall falls, he bellows a command. He moves forward, passed the rubble, and the debris. Into the city of his birth. He rides hard, swinging a sword that meets corpses and air, and then the real enemy. Men are fighting, screaming, coughing up blood, he moves and swings. He brings men down, more and more of them are fighting to escape, fleeing as their instincts kick in. Then as planned, he and his men pull out, moving towards the back of their position, as a new wave enters this time determined to make the break.

Walls are falling under the strain of fighting off the rocks his army is hurling at them. Reports come of the northern gate caving in, of a southern gate breaking open. The walls there remain standing but the gates are firmly damaged. He knows that he will need to do a lot to repair the city when the fighting is done. But for now, he needs to ensure that he is in the lead. He takes a moment, and then barks a command. They move into position and continue the fighting. His sword cuts through the air, and more men are falling. The battle is moving as quickly as he would have liked it to. He cannot see Stark, but if he does find the man, he will have him captured. Stark is far too valuable to kill. He swings his sword, and a man bearing the arms of Lannister falls down. The Lannisters had not played as active a part in this war as he would’ve thought. That has surprised him, but then perhaps Tywin Lannister is coming toward the city now.

As the thought runs through his head, he hears a shout go up from the rear. It sounds distinctly like Lannisters approaching, and therefore, he orders his men to retreat from the city with him. He will not be caught off guard. Commanding the rear, as per his request is Jon. And the man has a shield wall up now. Aegon watches as an enemy comes charging up through the trees, and comes smashing into the wall. Men fall, horses are broken, and the sound of breaking armour and dying, broken men will haunt him for the rest of his life, he is sure. Still they do some damage, and yet the lions continue through. Breaking rank and file and making their way through. Aegon draws his sword and cuts down those who come too close. Deciding to lure them toward the debris in the hope of breaking their lines, Aegon turns his horse around and barks orders out. His men follow, albeit reluctantly.

They gallop as hard as they possibly can, cutting and pushing through the wreckage, and the moment they get into the city, his archers do as they are bid. Firing arrows off, culling the enemy by half. The stream of arrows is almost constant; they fire at will breaking down those who would stand against them. Aegon tears his attention away from the damage being done to the lions, to face the enemy in the city. His sword, still dripping with blood, takes up a mind of its own. He rides and cuts, swings, and hacks. And then as his power begins to fade, the enemy comes. Somewhere he sees the Baratheon banners, sees Baratheon riding toward him, his blood shoots up. And the mad dash begins. He cuts down three men, four men, five men, seven men and then he cannot move anymore. His body broken by the blows he has taken. He falls from his horse, his bones crunch.

* * *

 

**“Mother, forgive me. Father, forgive me.”**


	79. Finish

****

**“Blood, that was the one thing Father told me about the Trident. There was a lot of blood. I never knew how true that was until Braavos. When a person dies, it is almost as if their blood just flies out of them. As if they are seeking release, and their blood just decides to take it. Not caring, not asking questions. It just moves, and if you get in its way then hard luck for you.”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

The fleet that was blocking his city is destroyed. Nothing more than a smoking ruin. The daring of the Targaryen boy as he tried to demand something that was not his, impresses Joffrey. But in the end, nothing will beat the royal fleet, nothing can beat the royal fleet. The pirate fleet is destroyed, Joffrey and his army disembark to the sound of battle. He smiles, his horse is saddled and ready and the minute he mounts it, he knows it will be a long time before he gets off of it. He pushes his horse forward, and soon enough they are charging into the city proper. The walls have fallen in, in some parts, but in other parts they hold firm. He barks commands and his army fans out. They ride hard, and they catch the enemy off guard. Always a good sign.

His weapons are used in good effect. They break through lines of sellswords and Dornish cunts. He swings his axe, and then punches when that does no good. They ride through the streets, seeing the enemy breaking or standing tall and fighting. Those who run he rides hard to catch and kill himself. There is some sort of savage delight from killing those who would flee. He breaks them against his weapons, and against his men. He can hear the sound of battle all around him. It is reassuring, and it is comforting, he feels a sense of confidence from it. The sellswords of the Golden Company fight with savagery. They fight for their lives; they fight to defend themselves. He respects that, he can respect that, but he knows that for now, they will not be able to defend themselves. His men continue to file through into the city, and the Golden Company are losing more men then they can handle.

He sees the Targaryen banners flying close at hand. He sees a boy wearing Targaryen armour, and he knows that that is the pretender. He barks commands and moves out to meet the boy in combat. He cuts down men who get in his way, and he smiles underneath his own helm when the Targaryen boy sees him and starts doing the same. They are cutting down those in their path, they fight and fight, breaking all the barriers of their body. Pain wracks through him, but Joffrey finds that he does not particularly care. He knows what needs to be done and he intends to see it done. The Targaryen boy and he come face to face. They snarl at one another, and then they are fighting. Their weapons clang against one another, breaking their bodies into nothing more than carriers. Carriers for something that might not truly happen. He screams at the pain in his shoulders and his arms. But they keep going. Eventually, the Targaryen boy falls. There is a moment of pause, then his army starts turning. Joffrey sags down in his saddle.

But just as he thinks that relief has come, the Targaryen army is rallied. A man wearing silver armour, with a black plume in his hair bellows commands. The army rallies and comes back charging. Joffrey groans and raises himself up to sit straight. He takes some time, and then the crush comes back. Fighting, he cracks a blow here, and there. He cuts down the fools who come too close to him. Smashing those who dare to challenge him. Joffrey roars commands, he knows his body is slowly giving up on him, but he knows that he will stand firm for now. He will hold together, and ensure that nothing is done without his say so. They move, inch by bloody inch. They move forwards, pushing the Targaryen army back toward the ground, toward where his grandsire’s army is fighting. The northmen are here as well, he thinks he sees a wolf banner. He is not sure, nor does he quite care.

The man with the silver armour is fighting as if his life depends on it. Joffrey has seen more of his men cut down by this man alone than by anyone else. He bellows commands and acts as the commander now that his King is dead. Joffrey decides to meet the challenge. They cut down the enemy soldiers. His axe dripping red, and his arms ache, his shoulders pain. He does not know how much longer he can keep going. He just knows he needs to. He cannot expose his brother to the worries of the campaign. He does not think Tommen could handle the strains of the crown. He keeps going. His axe breaking against the strain of fighting and killing so many people. He draws a sword from his back, and then continues fighting. This art of killing is something completely different to what he is normally used to. It is chaotic, it is purposeful, and now they move as fast as they can.

He comes to find the silver armoured knight breaking speeds previously unknown to come and fight him. He swears and then cuts and slashes, he will meet the bastard if he has to. They do eventually meet. The blows they exchange are fierce, and tiring. Joffrey knows his own body is screaming for relief. He keeps going though. They both do. Breaking and heaving. Sighing against the pain of it all. Eventually, his sword is removed from his hands, the enemy stands there, determined to end him, but before he can arrow rain down, and the enemy is felled. He takes a breath and sees Brandon Stark standing with a bow and arrow, the boy nods and then they keep going. They fight and fight until the sun is high in the sky, bodies lie piled on the ground, blood runs in the streets. The enemy is broken. They have won. And Joffrey sags to his knees and roars.

* * *

 

**“What is this, if not the freedom we have sought.”**


	80. Talk

**“The world is righted once more. The threats are dealt with. There is much that needs to be done. But soon enough we shall heal the realm. It shall be fixed, and we shall ensure that it never goes wrong again. The King is the man to lead us into the glorious new age, of that I am convinced.”**

* * *

 

**Lord Eddard Stark**

“The rebuilding of the city walls goes well Sire.” Ned says. “The people are doing all they can to ensure that the rebuilding goes on time.”

The King smiles. “Good. That is what I want to hear. Are they being paid enough?”

Lord Willas nods. “They are Sire. I am making sure of that.”

“Good.” The King responds. “Now tell me, what word is there about those who rebelled?”

“Aegon and Viserys Targaryen, as you know were killed during the fighting. As was Prince Oberyn and his nephew Prince Quentyn. Our men have dealt with Prince Doran as well as his other relatives. The House of Martell is not extinct Sire.” Ned says, though the words do not sit well with him.

“And the pretender’s sisters? What of them?” the King asks.

“They have been dealt with as you asked as well Sire.” Ned says. The images of their heads mounted on spikes runs through his head, but he blanks it out. “Those lords who supported the Targaryens have been dealt with as you requested. Lands have been confiscated and lords have been executed. The question now remains as to who should fill their lands.”

“I want Lord Yronwood to be confirmed as Lord Paramount of Dorne.” The King says. “And the priveliges that the Martells enjoyed are to be rescinded I will not have another King in my realm.”

“Very well Sire. I am sure that Lord Yronwood will be more than happy to accept that.” Ned says. And he finds that he does actually mean that, considering the fact that Yronwood was more than happy to turn on Martell.

“I also want Theon Greyjoy confirmed as Lord of the Shield Islands and Lord of the Arbor.” The King says.

“Do you think that is wise Sire?” Ned asks.

“Lord Willas?” The King asks.

“I see no reason for it not to be an issue. As the King, has put it to me, Lord Greyjoy shall rule through advisors on the Arbor, whilst he remains in Pyke. That arrangement suits me.” Lord Willas responds.

There had been some doubt over where Lord Willas’s allegiance lay, but since he has done so much for the crown in the days and months since the end of the war, it seemed only fair to allow him the benefit of the doubt. Ned then looks at the King and asks. “What of Braavos Sire? What decision have you made there?”

“Braavos will be allowed to rebuild. I shall send those who wish to leave to Braavos, to help rebuild the city and to ensure that the place remains firm in its loyalties. I will not tolerate another attempt at rebellion there.” The King says. “Furthermore, I shall retain the title of King of Braavos, and as per the suggestion of the High Septon will accept the crown of Andalos.”

Ned nods, though the growing list of titles concerns him, he decides to keep those concerns to a minimum. Instead he asks. “And what of the Vale Sire? They remained neutral during the war.”

The King seems to be pondering this, but then he simply says. “The Vale did not aid the enemies of the crown. They remained neutral, and whilst I might not approve of that, I can understand why they did it. and so they shall remain unpunished.” Ned nods, relieved. The King then speaks once more. “As a reward for his services to the crown during the war, grandsire shall also take the north eastern part of the Reach.” Lord Willas nods in acceptance of this. “I shall also name my brother, Prince Tommen as heir to Storm’s End, with my uncle’s approval.” Lord Renly nods. “And, if it is agreeable to you my lord Stark, I would ask about a betrothal between my brother and your daughter Sansa.”

The offer surprises him, but he says. “I am honoured by the request Sire. If I could have some time to think about it, that would be most appreciated.”

The King nods and says. “I will give you some time. But I would know your decision before the wedding begins.”

The council meeting comes to an end then, and Ned makes his way back to the Tower of the Hand. He summons both his wife and daughter to his chambers then, to discuss the betrothal request. “The King has offered to betroth his brother to you Sansa. Prince Tommen would be named heir to Storm’s End and would succeed Lord Renly upon the latter’s death. What do you think?”

His daughter seems to be considering the merits of such a betrothal in much more intricate detail than she had done when she as betrothed to the King. Perhaps age has done that to her, perhaps experience. Whatever it is, Ned knows he needs to give her time, he goes to speak and say this, but then his daughter speaks. “I think a betrothal would be good. I like Tommen, and am friends with him. Perhaps in time I could grow to love him as well.”

He hears the hope in his daughter’s voice and nods, then he looks at his wife. “What do you think Cat?”

His wife seems cautious, and when she replies her voice is soft. “I think Prince Tommen is a good boy, and a smart one. I think he would be good for Sansa. And if you are happy to be betrothed to him Sansa, then I see no reason why the betrothal should not happen.”

Ned nods, and looks at his daughter as he asks. “So I should tell the King I accept?”

“Yes.” Sansa says. “Thank you for asking me father.” Ned nods relieved.

* * *

 

**“Relief, that is all there is now. The end of war.”**


	81. A Marriage For An Ending

****

**“There is nothing better to heal the wounds of a nation that has been through war, than a royal marriage. A royal marriage breeds hope. It shows to people that there is still something left to believe in. That the royal family is strong and whole. It is good.”**

* * *

 

**King Joffrey I Baratheon**

The Great Sept of Baelor was alive with the sound of music and the sound of people. He looks at his bride to be and listens as the High Septon speaks the words. “There is nothing more sacred than the joining of two people in a union of marriage. The Gods do will it so. And so, today, we are here to celebrate the union of His Majesty, King Joffrey and her ladyship Lady Margaery.”  There is a break as the High Septon catches his breath, then the man continues speaking. “Now, in light of the Seven, I do implore you to both speak your vows.”

Joffrey goes first, as King. “I, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, do solemnly swear to protect you and to love you and to share with you my burdens and my joys, from this day to my last.”

Margaery speaks next. “I Margaery of the House Tyrell, do solemnly swear to protect you, and to love you, to share with you in all of life’s great burdens and its promises, from this day to my last.”

The High Septon smiles, Joffrey also sees his mother smiling surprisingly enough, but then as the High Septon speaks, he turns his attention back to the man. “Now, with the vows exchanged, I do declare you man and wife. You may now kiss.”

Joffrey needs no further encouragement, he leans forward and kisses his wife, and when she deepens the kiss briefly, he feels his heart flutter. They break apart, and then he takes her hand and walks out of the Sept, and out onto the steps, where thousands of people stand waiting for them. They roar out in appreciation when they see them. Joffrey turns to his wife and smiles. “They’re here for us.” She smiles and nods, and then leans in and kisses him, eliciting a loud roar from the crowd that has gathered. When they break apart, they then move to the litter waiting for them, they get in and the journey to the Red Keep begins once more.

The feast itself passes by in a blur, there is much talking, and much drinking, when the bedding is declared, it is a relief. And then when it is just the two of them alone in his chambers, he kisses her, and brings her down to the bed, he hovers over her and says. “Wife.”

 And she replies. “Husband.” Then they lose themselves to one another, and all seems right with the world.

* * *

 

**“The end, or the beginning? You decide. Thank you for reading.”**


End file.
